Ethics  of  Literature 


BY 

JOHN   A.    KERSEY 


"Of  bunmii  life  the  time  is  a  point,  eiiid  the  siibstniice  is  in  a  flux,  and 
the  perception  dull,  and  the  composition  of  the  whole  body  subject  to  putre- 
faction, and  the  soul  in  a  -whirl,  and  fortune  hard  to  divine,  and  fame  a 
thing  devoid  of  judgment.  *  *  *  PVhat  then  is  that  which  is  able  to  con- 
duct a  man?     One  thing  and  only  one,  philosophy." — Antoninus. 


"rJtiid  no  man  knows  dhtinctly  anything, 
And  no  man  ever  will." — Xenophanes. 


MARION,  IND. 

E.  L.  GoLDTHWAiT  &  Co.,  Printers  and  Binders 

1894 


Copyright  by  Author,  1894. 


"Pythagoras,  who  often  teaches 
Precepts  of  magic,  and  with  speeches 
Of  long  high-sounding  diction  draws 
From  gaping  crowds  a  vain  applause." 

—  Tinwii's  Silli. 


^500154 


DEDICATION. 


To  the  candid  and  energetic  Thinker  who  would  not  stultify 
himself  for  an  unintelligible  faith,  independent  without  insolence, 
incredulous  without  irreverence,  who  prefers  his  judgment  (con- 
science?) to  fashionable  fancies  and  fanatacisms,  and  who  loathes 
the  gilded  rot  with  which  an  exclusive  regime  regales  a  reading 
world,  the  following  pages  are  respectfully  inscribed. 


A  VOICE  FROM  NEW  JERSEY. 

The  applause  of  the  thoughtless  multitude  is  not  always  a  safe  criterion  of 
the  value  of  any  production  of  human  genius,  whether  in  the  field  of  industry, 
art  or  science,  and,  least  of  all,  perhaps,  in  that  of  literature.  The  works  of 
hundreds  of  authors  which,  in  their  day,  were  lauded  to  the  skies  and  pro- 
nounced immortal — yet  dropped  out  of  existence  as  completely  as  if  they  had 
never  aroused  the  ephemeral' applause  of  confused  enthusiasm — furnish  a  melan- 
choly illustration  of  the  trustworthiness  of  contempory  ciiticism.  Wide  pub- 
licity does  not  establish  intrinsic  worth,  and  the  rebuke  of  one  wise  man,  if 
sincere,  outweighs  the  frantic  approval  often  thousand  fools. 

But  while  all  error,  prejudice  and  false  sentiment  is  doomed,  eo  ipso,  to  be 
superseded  by  the  recognition  of  truth  as  soon  as  the  torch  of  enlightenment  is 
carried  far  enough  by  the  foremost  minds  of  the  age,  yet- some  illusions  are 
deliberately  retained  and  fostered  beyond  their  legitimate  scope,  for  reasons 
which  cannot  well  be  expressed  here  in  few  words. 

The  exaggerated  praise  which  is  still  bestowed  upon  authors  who  have 
produced  little  of  intrinsic  merit,  or  who  have  been  put  into  the  shade  by  those 
whom  the  world  has  but  tardily  deigned  to  recognize,  must  always  depressingly 
affect  minds  that  are  capable  of  adding  to  this  world's  store  of  wisdom,  and 
who  fain  would  expedite  the  course  of  general  advancement. 

There  are  certain  authors  whose  works,  nowadays,  are  practically  never 
read,  yet  whom  everybody  deems  it  his  duty  to  eulogize  inordinately.  Tradi- 
tional veneration,  misapplied  hero-worship  and  erroneous  education  are  mainly 
responsible  for  this.  We  are  taught  from  infancy  to  look  upon  certain  writers, 
poets,  philosophers,  etc.,  as  paragons,  and  never  to  question  their  genius,  or 
subject  their  productions  to  a  closer  analysis,  with  a  view  of  determining  their 
real  caliber.  Ignoring  a  great  mind  is  bad  enough,  but  placmg  a  poor  one  on  a 
pedestal,  bestowing  unmerited  praise  upon  mediocrity,  and  setting  up  a  false 
standard  of  excellence,  are  infmitely  worse. 

A  careful  perusal  of  Mr.  John  A.  Kersey's  "Ethics  of  Literature''  has  brought 
me  to  the  conclusion  that  the  hour  has  come  at  last  when  the  cobwebs  of  ec- 
static eulogy,  absurd  glorification  and  general  hoodwinking,  which  have  gath- 
ered around  some  of  the  literary  idols  of  the  last  three  generations,  are  about  to 
be  swept  away,  once  and  forever.  Let  those  who  cannot  bear  the  truth  stand 
aside! 

There  will  be  a  great  howl  raised  against  these  essays  by  those  who  are 
linked  to  inherited  notions  by  all  the  ties  of  interest,  prejudice  and  conceit,  but 
Mr.  Kersey  wields  a  formidable  scimitar,  and  i  am  proud  to  excercise  the  privi- 
lege of  recording  my  opinion  that  the  "Ethics  of  Literature"  will  live,  and  of 
congratulating  this  bold  and  brilliant  champion  of  the  cause  of  truth. 

Heinrich  Hensoldt. 

Paterson,  New  Jersey. 


A  GRATUITOUS  OPINION. 

A  gratuitous  opinion  is  usually  worth  just  what  it  costs.  So  it  may  be  with 
this,  but  even  a  hasty  glance  at  the  manuscript  of  the  Ethics  of  Literatuie  reveals 
some  things,  which  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  mention,  and  recalls  some 
others  which  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  note. 

Many  a  sentence  has  fallen  from  the  lips  of  obscurity  which  coming  from 
celebrity  would  be  valued  as  a  grain  of  gold.  Many  an  adage  is  accepted  be- 
cause of  its  age.  Many  a  proverb  has  been  accepted  because  of  the  must  and 
the  mould  which  years  have  given  it.  Many  a  book  has  been  bought  and  read 
and  admired  because  of  the  name  on  the  title  page.  This  book  may  neither  be 
bought  nor  read  nor  admired,  but  there  are  grains  of  gold  in  it,  nevertheless.  It 
has  neither  the  must  nor  the  mould  of  age,  nor  has  it  the  glamour  of  a  great 
name  to  recommend  it,  but   there   is   much   in   it  that   is   worth  attention. 

He  who  buys  a  book  because  the  literary  popes  have  recommended  it,  will 
wait  for  holy  sanction  before  he  buys  or  reads  this.  He  whose  digestive  appar- 
atus has  been  weakened  by  prescribed  diet  to  a  degree  that  requires  gruel  as 
food  for  thought,  will  wait  for  a  prescription  before  he  touches  this,  but  he  who 
chews,  digests  and  assimilates  for  himself  needs  but  to  glance  at  the  table  of 
contents  to  find  some  things  that  he  wants. 

The  author  of  this  book  has  been  reading.  More  tlian  that,  he  has  been 
thinking.  He  has  been  in  search,  not  for  what  somebody  else  says,  or  thinks, 
but  for  what  is.  He  has  read  "not  to  contradict  nor  to  believe,  but  to  weigh 
and  consider."  It  is  clear  that  long  ago  he  had  reached  that  rare  condition  of 
mind  in  which  one  can  be  himself.  He  has  read  for  himself  and  thought  for 
himself.     His  work  is  therefore  original. 

Dullness  swallows  dogma  because  it  is  dogma.  Acumen  rejects  it  from 
sheer  inability  to  accept  it,  hence  there  is  much  in  this  book  to  stamp  the 
author  with  the  brand  of  heresy  in  the  estimation  of  the  literary  authorities.  It 
is  none  the  worse  for  that.     To  many  it  will  be  the  better. 

The  value  of  a  production  is  less  in  what  the  author  thinks  than  in  the  de- 
gree to  which  he  sets  the  reader  to  thinking.  In  this  book  there  are  both  tonic 
and  stimulus.  He  who  reads  it  will  thereafter  think  none  the  less  for  himself. 
Let  him  read  carefully,  and  he  will  be  all  the  more  himself.  The  work  is  not 
only  original,  but  it  appeals  to  the  individuality  of  the  reader. 

No  man  is  ever  free  from  the  bias  of  preconception,  but  the  author  of  this 
book  has  had  neither  creed  to  support  nor  creed  to  destroy.  He  is  neither 
Protestant  nor  Catholic,  neither  deist  nor  atheist.  He  is  neither  religious  nor 
anti-religious  bigot.     He  has  sought  the  truth. 

It  is  not  unlikely  that  he  will  be  crucified  by  the  critics,  for  to-day  as  well  as 
century  and  a  half  ago,  there  are  those  who  "have  still  an  itching  to  deride." 

W.   H.  Sanders. 

Marion,  Ind. 


PREFACE 


If  men  were  so  concerned  to  have  as  they  are  disposed  to 
affect  wisdom,  it  would  not  be  so  rare;  and  the  flood  of  learned 
jargon  with  which  the  world  is  deluged  would  not  he  so  over- 
whelming. The  results  of  their  misguided  energies,  while  less 
voluminous,  might  be  more  edifying  to  their  readers,  and  possi- 
bly more  gratifying  to  the  ambitious  writers.  At  all  events  the 
world  would  not  suffer  from  an  abatement  of  the  prevalent 
ardor  for  authorship.  My  library,  selected  from  time  to  time, 
and  with  a  view  to  literary  utility,  contains  many  eubullitions, 
instances  of  the  inability  of  the  wise  to  suppress  the  divine 
afflatus.  From  the  times  of  the  Socratic  Ph^do  and  the  Eucli- 
dian Phoenix  on  down  through  the  cycles  to  those  of  the  Anal- 
ogy and  the  Age  of  Reason,  and  to  the  present,  there  have  been 
few  wilful  violations  of  the  edict  against  concealing  light  under 
a  bushel.  In  view  of  the  universally  inherent  communicative- 
ness of  the  learned  the  admonition  were  quite  superfluous;  they 
seldom  deserve  censure  for  knowing  more  than  they  are  willing 
to  impart  to  or  inflict  upon  their  fellows. 

Were  true  wisdom  commensurate  with  or  if  it  pervaded 
the  mass  of  what  is  written,  one  of  average  capacity  would 
grapple  but  feebly  with  its  immensity,  and  the  meagre  allotment 
of  three  score  and  ten  would  scarcely  suffice  to  invoice  the  vari- 
ous and  voluminous  effluvia.  But  wisdom  and  learning  are 
not  convertible  terms.  Great  learning  may  be  evinced  in  the 
ethereal  imagery  of  the  Poet,  in  the  recondite  reasoning  of  the 
rationalist,  and  in  the  carping  cavil  of  the  critic,  without  aug- 
menting or  e.xalting  wisdom.  As  numerous  and  various  as 
are  the  subjects  of  the  countless  contributions  to  the  immeas- 
urable mass,  slight  acumen  will  suffice  to  detect  the  invariable 
object  of  their  authors.  Myriad  memorials  are  left  to  remind 
an  ungrateful  world  of  its  obligations  to  the  illustrious  dead. 
Some  seem  destined  to  abide  with  time  and  thought.     It  is  dif- 


8  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ficult  to  conceive  why  some  should  endure  to  stigmatize  liter- 
ature and  the  memory  of  their  authors.  Many  of  stupid  self- 
conceit  are  buried  in  oblivion  ere  their  authors  escape  to  the 
tomb,  and  many  others  should  be. 

A  ramble  through  this  field  and  a  view  of  some  of  the  labor- 
ers and  their  works  may  not  be  amiss  in  one  whose  life  has 
been  a  contemplation  of  and  devotion  to  it.  A  candid  inquiry 
into  their  various  merits  may  work  no  more  ill  than  slightly  to 
increase  the  mass,  the  bulk  of  which  embarrasses  more  than  it 
edifies  the  votary  to  progress,  engenders  thought  as  variegated 
as  the  features  and  complexions  of  men,  and  hinders  rather  than 
promotes  the  march  of  intellect.  The  paradoxical  position  that 
one  properly  niay  write  to  show  that  too  much  is  already  writ- 
ten is  confidently  assumed.  The  manner  in  which  it  is  main- 
tained and  its  success  are  matters  for  the  discernment  of  the 
reader.  One  ought  not  to  bespeak  charity  for  such  a  work  as 
is  here  proposed.  Yet  such  a  plea  might  be  prompted  if  not 
excused  by  a  due  appreciation  of  the  magnitude  of  the  under- 
taking. If  self-conceit  blinds  some  writers  to  their  own  folly,  it 
may  sustain  others  against  a  humiliating  consciousness  of  infer- 
iority. Were  my  position  consistent  with  justification  by  pre- 
cedent, it  might  be  observed  that  one  is  not  far  from  fashion 
merely  in  the  fact  that  his  own  overweening  assurance  is  the 
only  assurance  he  has  that  he  will  not  meet  merited  mortifi- 
cation. 

The  boldness  of  the  undertaking  will  dwindle  to  diffidence 
when  compared  with  the  effrontery  of  savants,  prescribing  the 
plans  and  portraying  the  purposes  of  Providence.  Under  their 
auspices  and  with  a  servile  sycophancy  Religion  is  found  catch- 
ing at  the  hem  of  the  garment  of  Science.  Its  apologists  (not 
its  promoters)  assume  the  authority  to  enunciate  a  divine 
(moral  .^)  philosophy,  to  vouch  for  the  veracity  of  divine  verity, 
and  to  defend  Omnipotence  against  Impotence,  whose  assaults 
derive  their  chief  importance  from  the  concern  of  pedantic  fan- 
atics. 

1  propose  to  inquire  what  some  great  literary  luminaries 
have  done,  and  to  show  in  some  instances  what  were  better 
left  undone,   for  the  enlightenment  of  Mankind.     And  in  this 


PREFACE.  9 

retrospect  we  will  observe  the  acknowledged  Titans  engaged 
in  Herculean  labors  to  establish  truths  which,  in  the  nature  of 
things  and  of  mind,  are  either  self-evident  or  unprovable.  We 
will  observe  minds  which  have  given  the  world  some  of  the 
most  superb  thought,  grouping  the  rarest  gems  in  clusters  with 
the  veriest  peter-funk.  We  will  behold  exhibitions  of  power  out 
of  all  proportion  with  principle,  in  many  instances  entirely  with- 
out it, — but  occasionally  we  will  be  refreshed  with  an  instance  in 
which  the  renown  of  the  author  is  not  the  soul  of  his  effort,  and 
his  profit  is  not  its  stimulus. 

He  who  intelligently  and  conscientiously  writes  for  the  bet- 
terment of  Mankind,  deserves  the  abiding  respect  and  gratitude 
of  the  race.  He  who  writes  to  assert  himself,  or  for  his  own 
profit,  deserves  undisturbed  oblivion,  and  to  'Till  his  belly  with 
the  husks  that  the  swine  did  eat,"  He  who  writes  to  foster 
fanaticism,  sanction  superstition,  or  vindicate  vice,  especially  in 
its  priestly  robes,  deserves  notice  only  for  the  purpose  of  exe- 
cration. As  they  pass  in  review  a  superficial  glance  might  in 
some  instances  betray  the  beholder  into  undeserved  and  ill- 
advised  condemnation,  or,  commendation.  A  close  examin- 
ation, a  careful  consideration,  and  candid  conclusion  are  due  to 
the  subject,  to  its  writer,  and  to  the  reader.  And  they  will  dis- 
close that  if  utility  were  recognized  as  an  element  in  the  law 
of  literature,  thousands  of  groaning  shelves  would  be  relieved 
of  their  burdens  by  bonfires  throughout  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  civilized  world.  There  should  be  no  statutes  of  limita- 
tion in  literature.  Titles  should  not  be  acquired  by  prescrip- 
tion. Quackery,  imposture,  and  frivolity,  should  not  be  made 
venerable  with  mere  age. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    I. 

PHILOSOPHIC  APOLOGETICS. 

Butler's  Argument  Presented  to  the  Queen — Erroneously  Termed  an  Analogy — 
Analogy  Would  have  Suggested  Non-resistance— Cause  had  Flourished  Under 
Opposilion — Inconsistency  of  Attacks  Upon,  and  Defence  of  Religion 
— Religion  Necessarily  Unreasonable— Spiritual  Existence  can  Neither  be 
Proved  nor  Disproved — Unaccountable  Mystery  in  Physical  Phenomena — 
The  Spiritual  Inlinitely  more  Mysterious — Man,  more  than  Animated  Physical 
Substance — Changed  Condition  of  Substance  in  Physical  Death — Desire  for 
Esteem  after  Death,  Based  on  Idea  of  Future  Existence — Spiritual  Phenomena 
Infinitely  more  Abstruse  than  Physical — Religious  Fanaticism  Unduly 
Opposes  Skepticism — Sanction  of  Religion,  Necessarily  a  Future  Existence- 
Analogy  must  be  Continuous — Its  Continuity  Ruins  its  Argument — Analogy 
Between  Physical  and  Spiritual  Existence  implies  eternally  Recurring  Integ- 
rations and  Diffusions  of  Soul-substance — Injustice  of  Punishment — Irrever- 
ence of  Apologetics — Results,  the  only  Reasonable  Argument  for  or 
Against  a  Religious  System. 

CHAPTER   II. 

religion's    OBSEQ.UIOUS    HOMAGE    TO    SCIENCE. 

Prefatory  Apologies  for  Theological  Discussion  Imply  its  Impropriety — Natural 
Law  in  Spiritual  World,  Based  on  Analogy  Between  the  Two  Spheres 
— Religion  Derives  no  New  Credential  from  Philosophy — Paul  Placed  it 
Above  Science — Kant's  Idea  of  Socratic  Method — Unfair  Methods  of  Fanat- 
ics, Requiring  Disproof— Nicodemus  Put  Upon  His  Own  Faith — Analogy 
Posits  Beginning  and  End  of  Eternity — Truculence  of  Theology  to  Science 
— Heredity  Illustrates  Absurdity  of  Analogy — Periods  and  Progress  Irrecon- 
cilable With  Eternal  Spiritual  Existence — Inanimate  Spirit-Substance  Re- 
quisite to  Analogy—  Biogenesis  Implies  Beginning  and  Ending  of  Life  of 
Almighty — Apologetics  Implies  Insufficiency  of  Divine  Authority — Spencer- 
Religion  to  Be  Such,  Must  Be  an  Absolute  Mystery — Law  of  Death — Na- 
ture Squaring  Her  Account  With  Sin — Man  and  the  Lily — Heredity  and 
Environment — Impropriety  and  Irreverence  in  Alleged  Religious  Philosophy. 

CHAPTER    HI. 

EPIC    APOLOGETICS. 
Paradise  Lost,  the  Grandest  of  all  Metrical  Apologetics — Its  Purpose  to   Assert 
and  Justify  Eternal  Providence — Admits  Uncertainty  of  Existence  and  Jus- 


12  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

tice  of  the  Almighty — Atheist  Supposed — Argument  Would  Confuse  More 
Than  Convince  Him — Incongruity  Obscured  by  Grandeur,  Extravagance, 
Metaphor,  Etc — Occasion  and  Object  of  Creation — Imply  Free-will  and 
Fatalism — Fall  of  Man,  Bad  Economy — Providence  Responsible — Philoso- 
phy of  Poem  Overrated — Meant  to  Immortalize  Poet — Skepticism  Over- 
rated— Miracle,  Prophecy,  and  Revelation,  as  Authoritative  for  One  System 
as  Another — Audacity  of  Theological  Reasoning — Question  Personal  to 
Each  Individual— Neither  Freedom  Nor  Fatalism  Can  be  Made  to  Appear 
Reasonable— Gibbon's  Tribute  to  Christianity. 

CHAPTER    IV. 

DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 
Prologue  to  Essay  On  Man  Assumes  Marvelous  Wisdom  of  Poet — Dissimula- 
tion as  to  Integrity  of  Purpose — Providential  Plan  a  Confusion— Vindication 
Necessarily  illogical — To  Reason  About  Providence  From  what  we  Know 
is  to  Reason  From  Nothing — Necessity  of  Man  to  System  a  Groundless  As- 
sumption— Coherency  of  System— Freedom  and  Fatalism  irreconcilable — 
If  Whatever  is  is  Right  Man's  Errors  are  Right — The  Ways  of  Providence 
Must  be  Known  Before  They  Can  be  Vindicated — All  Knowlege  is  Acquir- 
ed— Conditions  Must  be  Unknown — Poetry  May  Flourish  in  Metaphysics 
— Taine's  strictures  on  the  Poet — Foul  Blots  on  the  Poetry  of  the  Essay — 
Indefinite  Purpose  and  Ambition  of  the  Poet. 

CHAPTER   V. 

POETICAL  PARASITISM. 
Metropolis  of  Seventeenth  Century  Literature — Dominated  by  a  Pensioner  of 
Royalty — Paid  Panegyric — Loathsome  character  of  Subjects  Praised — 
Malevolent  Satire  of  Those  in  Disfavor  with  Royalty — Catholicism  Ridi- 
culed in  the  Absalom  and  Achitophel — The  "Chief  Justice's  Western 
Campaign'' — Protestantism  Ridiculed  in  the  "Hind  and  Panther" — Kings's 
Southeastern  Campaign — Egotism  of  the  Laureate — Cause  of  His  Popu- 
larity. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

PHILOSOPHIC  FUME,  MYSTICISM,  ECCENTRICITY,  AND  EGOTISM. 
Literary  Heterogeneity — Books  Should  go  Upon  Their  Own  Merit,  and  Not 
Upon  the  Prestige  of  Their  Writers— Style  Best  Suited  to  Writer  May  be 
Disgusting  to  the  Reader — Folly  of  Philosophizing  in  Terms  of  Buffoonery 
— Sentiment  of  the  Sartor  Resartus  Deserves  Decent  Expression — Author 
Impersonated  in  Teufelsdrockh — Art  of  Printing  Disbands  Armies  and 
Cashiers  Senates — Defiance  of  Politico-Religious  Oppression — Cringing  to 
Royalty — indifference  to  the  Marvellous — Coarse  Vulgarity  of  Allusion — 
Instance  of  Similarity  to  Kant's  View  of  the  Cosmology— Nature  Not  an 
Aggregate  But  a  Whole—  Persistence  of  Force — Smithy-fire— Matter  Exists 
Spiritually,  to  Body-forth  Ideas — Infancy  of  Teufelsdrockh— Unprecedented 


CONTENTS.  13 

Egotism  of  Philosopher — Stricture  on  European  Educational  System — Great 
Ability  Squandered  in  Eccentricity  and  Buffoonery — The  French  Revolu- 
tion, (A  History — Norse  Jarl — ^John  Sterling — Mother  Goose  in  Men's 
Clothes — Spring  Poetry — Witty  Criticism  of  English  Biography — Undue 
Importance  Given  a  Mountebank — Important  Historical  Fact  and  Deep 
Philosoph)  Rendered  Ridiculous. 

CHAPTER   VII. 

ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE. 

Translators  Should  Translate  and  not  Paraphrase — Historians  Should  Narrate 
and  not  Philosophize — Equivalence  of  Thought  Psychologically  Possible — 
Equivalence  of  Expression  Philologically  Possible — Literary  Economy — 
Recriminations  of  Translators  and  Editors — Modern  Reader's  Assurance 
that  He  gets  the  Meaning  of  the  Ancient  Writer — Provisional  Validity  of 
Lucretius'  Philosophy — Economy  of  Nature  in  Time  and  Space — Religion 
and  Superstition — Parallel  Between  Invocations  of  Lucretius  and  Milton — 
Disagreement  Among  Translators — Improvised  Data  of  Philosophy — Its 
Weakness  for  Parallels — Primordial  Atom  Impossible — Annihilation  and 
Diminuition  Impossible — Self  Propulsion  Impossible — Nature  Only  Another 
Name  for  the  Almighty — Freedom  Attributed  to  Irregularity  of  Voluntary 
Atomical  Motion — Mediaeval  Papacy  Attempts  to  Enslave  Thought — Mor- 
tality and  Immortality  Conclusively  Proved  by  Reasoning  of  Lucretius  and 
Socrates — Insuperable  Antinomy — Disgusting  Allusions  of  Philosophers — 
Literary  Toadyism. 

CHAPTER    Vlll. 

nature's  poet. 

Treasures  Among  Trash — Symmetry  of  The  Ages — The  Poets  Medium  Between 
Optimism  and  Cynicism — Civilization  a  Constant  Rhythmical  Growth 
— Good  and  Evil  Necessarily  Relative — Poetry  of  Nature  an  Effusion  of  the 
Soul  and  not  a  Product  of  Genius — Personal  Merit  an  Absurdity — Constitu- 
tion and  Environment — Integration  and  Diffusion — Mechanical  Cause  of 
Feeling  and  Emotion — Contemptible  Spirit  that  Seeks  Consolation  for  111 
in  the  Reflection  that  Others  also  Suffer — Attention  an  Effort — Universal 
Weakness  for  Flattery — Philosophy  Works  over  the  Old  More  than  it  De- 
velops the  New — Celestial  and  Terrestrial  Paternity  of  Man — The  Coolest 
Deductions  of  Physics  as  Extravagant  as  the  Wildest  Flights  ot  Poetry — 
Hymn  to  Death. 

CHAPTER   IX.       • 

obscurity    AND    PROFUSION    AS    INDICATIONS    OF   GENIUS. 

Criticism  vs.  Production — Culture  the  only  legitimate  Purpose  of  Literature — 
Its  Purports  not  Generally  Understood — The  Masses  Affect  a  Taste  lor  that 
Which  they  cannot  Comprehend — Pedantry  Displays  Writer's  Resources 
Without    Promoting    Reader's    Intellectual    Attainment — Obligations     of 


14  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

Writers — Scene  of  the  Table  Round — Legendary  Origin  of  Arthur — Excali- 
bur  the  Cross-Hilted  Sword — Poetry's  Weakness  for  Similitudes — Gareth's 
inspiration — His  Mother's  Dissimulation — His  Exploits — ^Geraint  Casually 
Meets  the  Queen — Insulted  by  Dwarf  of  Stranger  Knight — Traces  the  Ver- 
min to  their  Earth — Entertained  by  Yniol — In  Love  with  Enid — Overcomes 
Edyrn — Marries  Enid — ^Jealousy  and  Brutality — Absurdity  of  Plot  and  De- 
nouement— Merlin  and  Vivien — Romance  Overdone — Lancelot  and  Elaine- 
Over-virtuous  Rake — The  Holy  Grail — Ambrosius  and  Percivale — The 
Blunting  and  Glancing  and  Shooting  of  Love — The  Nun's  Vision — Lance- 
lot's Bastard  Galahad— The  Siege  Perilous — Second  Death  of  Merlin — 
Descent  of  the  Grail — The  King  Fighting  on  the  Frontier  While  his  Knights 
Revel  at  the  Table  Round — Arthur's  Return — The  Order  Disperse  in  Quest 
of  the  Grail — Enoch's  Translation  Out-done — Percivale  Meets  a  Widow 
who  had  been  His  first  Love — Invited  to  Marry — Pelleas  and  Ettare — Her 
Insolence  to  the  Queen — His  Persistent  Suit— Gawain's  Intervention  and 
Perfidy — Pelleas'  Magnanimity — Repairs  to  the  Cloister — Rushes  There- 
from, Rides  Down  a  Crippled  Beggar,  Attacks  Lancelot,  is  Overthrown, 
Follows  Him  to  Arthur's  Hall,  and  Insults  Lancelot  and  the  Queen — 
Modred  Appears— The  Last  Tournament— Tristram  and  Dagonet  Philoso- 
phize— Nestling's  Rubies,  Prize  at  Tournament — Awarded  to  Tristrarji — 
His  Amour  with  Isolt — Mark's  Way — Insipidity  of  Denouement— Guine- 
vere— Modred  Hounds  Her  Trying  to  Learn  Facts  that  Everyone  Knew — 
His  Hatred  to  Lancelot — The  Queen's  Flight  to  the  Sanctuary— Madness  of 
Farewells  with  Lancelot— Her  last  Interview  with  Arthur— Passing  of 
Arthur — Battle  in  Lyonesse — Chancel  and  Cross  in  Heathen  Wilderness— 
Fl.iborated  Disposition  of  Excalibur — High-toned  Twaddle— Beauty  of  The 
Enoch  Arden— Unphilosophic  Philosophy  of  the  In  Memoriam. 

CHAPTER   X. 

OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS. 
Plain  English  Amply  Sufficient  Medium  for  Expression  of  all  Ideas— Impertin- 
ency  (jt  Apologetics — Bishop  Blougram's  Apology  a  Learned  Vagary — Its 
Merit  with  Readers  is  the  Prestige  of  its  Author— Aristocratic  Blackguard- 
ism—Worldly Priest-craft— Money  Makes  the  Spiritual  Mare  Go— The 
Skeptic's  Ideal  too  lofty  to  be  realized— Ocean  Voyage  of  a  Life— Faith  Ab- 
solute Fixed  and  Final  an  Impossibility— Religion  Based  in  Selfishness- 
Faith  Valid  Because  it  Must  be  So— Cowardice  and  Dissimulation  of  Apol- 
ogetics—Believer Under  Surveillance  of  the  World  in  his  Service  ol  the 
Lord— Belief  not  Within  Personal  Control— Creation  Declares  Instead  of 
Conceals  the  Creator. 

CHAPTER   XI. 

OBSCURITY    AND    PROFUSION    AS    INDICATIONS    OF    GENIUS. 
Elaboration   of  Preludes  to  Literary  Productions— Indefinite  Impulse  to  Write— 


CONTENTS.  I S 

Verifying  Inspiration  in  Reason — Philosophy  Rises  no  Higher  than  Proba- 
bility—  Pleasure  in  Being  Duped — The  Reverence  Due  to  Man — Economy 
of  the  Process  by  which  Destiny  is  Reached — Destiny  of  Man  Hanging 
Upon  Individuals — Individuals  Mere  Instrumentalities — The  Most  Myster- 
ious the  Most  Easily  Discernible — Man's  Weakness  Due  to  his  Mistrust 
— If  Evidence  Divine  were  Credible  to  Man  he  Would  Trust — Constitution, 
Environment,  Duty,  and  Destiny — Self-restraint,  an  Unreasonable  Re- 
quirement— Defying  the  Reason  whose  Sanction  was  to  be  Obtained — 
Reason  cannot  Live  in  the  Altitudes  to  which  the  hnagination  Soars. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

CLASSIFICATION,  GENERALIZATION,  AND  METAPHOR. 
Extent  and  Variety  of  Literary  Domain — Individuality  of  Persons  in  their  Books 
— Eccentricity  taken  for  Genius — -Philosophy  More  than  Classification — Lit- 
eratures do  not  Spring  Up — Change  the  Deepest  of  all  Subjects  of  Thought 
— Literature  Chief  Product  of  Mind — Taine's  Imaginary  Revolution,  Intel- 
lectual and  Literary — Misuse  of  Truisms — Unreasonable  Account  ot  Rise  of 
Various  Religions — Taine's  Compliment  to  American  Intellectuality — His 
Proposition  that  Religion  is  a  Human  Product — Sources  of  his  Source — 
Tacit  Rage  of  Scandinavians  Still  Survives  in  Sombreness  of  English  La- 
borer—Puritan Disposition  an  Outgrowth  of  Scandinavian  Rage — The 
New  Tongue — -Pagan  Renaissance,  its  Civilization — Christianity  Connected 
the  Literature  of  the  Time  before  the  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  with  that 
of  the  Middle  Ages — Generalization  Resorted  to  to  Avoid  Contradiction- -The 
Philosophic  Historian's  Nightmare,  Change — The  Deathly  Poetic  Spirit — 
Definitely  ascertained  Psychology  of  a  People  Impossible — Imagination  of 
a  Feudal  Hero — Intellectual  Servitude — Physical  Force  the  Basis  of  Thought 
— Imitation  and  Invention  in  Nature — Ecclesiastical  Oppression — Monothe- 
ism vs.  Polytheism — Methods  and  Philosophies  Arising  from  Spirit  of  the 
Age — r<elation  Between  the  Theatre  and  Literature — Poetry  and  Painting 
as  Arts  Older  than  History — Products  of  Ages — The  Derivation  of  Religions 
the  Strongest  Argument  Against  Them — No  Religion  can  be  Reasonable — 
Scope  of  the  Religious  hnagination — Paradise  Lost  more  Tragic  than  Epic— 
Taine's  Metaphorical  Criticism  of  Milton's  Metaphor — Loathsome  Classics, 
Temple,  Waller,  Wycnerly  and  Others — French  and  English  War  of  179; 
Not  a  Conflict  of  Literatures — The  Spectator,  its  Decline — Dean  Swift  a 
Monstrosity — German  Language  never  Facilitated  Philosophic  Thought^ — 
Periodicity  of  Change  in  Thought  and  Literature — -Accounting  for  Literary 
Freaks — No  Age  calls  Forth  any  Specific  Quality  of  Literature — Obligations 
of  Literary  Integrity. 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS. 
Genius  Drawing  Upon  Mystery — Question,  Existence  and  Justice  of  Almighty — 


1 6  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

Division  of  Knowledge,  a  Triori  and  a  Posteriori — Purpose  of  Knowledge 
a  Priori  Impossible — Copernicus,  Kant's  Parallel — Proving  Actuality  of 
Objects  Assumed  by  Reference  to  Faculty  of  Assumption — All  Knowledge 
Necessarily  Empirical — Analysis  of  Fourteen  of  Kant's  Postulates — Analysis 
of  Eight  More  of  his  Postulates — Space  and  Time  not  mere  Forms  of  Intu- 
ition, but  Objects  of  Thought—  Representations  of  Space  Must  be  Obtained 
From  Relations  of  External  Phenomena — Primitive  Cognition  Wholly  Im- 
possible— Consciousness  Must  be  Evoked — No  Knowledge  Without  Con- 
sciousness— All  Knowledge  Derived — Time  is  of  Objective  Validity  without 
Regard  to  Phenomena  Other  than  Itself— Things  are,  Regardless  of  Our 
Cognitions  of  Them — Outward  Objects  are  More  than  Mere  Representa- 
tions— Appearances  must  be  of  Things  Appearing — Substance  must  have 
Form  and  Form  must  be  of  Substance — Abstraction  of  our  Subjective 
Nature  Abolishes  Thought,  even  the  Thought  Necessary  to  the  Abstraction 
— Things  Known  Only  by  their  Relations — Thing  as  a  Thing  in  Itself,  Un- 
thinkable^Relations  of  Things  the  Bulk  of  Knowledge — Philosophy  De- 
generates into  Apologetics. 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

MYSTIFIED  METAPHYSICS. 
But  one  Logic — No  Cognition  without  Content—  Conception  has  no  a  priori 
Relation  to  Object — No  Universal  Criterion  of  Truth — Understanding  not 
Distinct  from  Sensibility — No  Representation  of  Undetermined  Object — 
Judgment  Necessarily  Composite — Negative  Content  of  Predicate  an  Ab- 
surdity— No  Logical  Extent  of  Judgment  Beyond  Content  of  the  Cognition 
• — No  Difference  Between  Internal  Necessity  and  External  Cause — Principles 
of  Philosophy  not  Expressed  in  Alternatives — Mind  (Soul)  a  Physical  Con- 
dition— Modality  of  judgments  must  Add  to  their  Value — No  Distinction 
Between  the  Tiue  and  the  Necessary— False  Judgment  Cannot  be  Basis  of 
Cognition  of  Truth— Sensibility  has  Nothing  Primitively  and  Derives  Noth- 
ing Except  Empirically,  Hence  no  Sensibility  a  priori — No  Spontaneity 
of  Thought — Synthesis  must  be  a  posteriori  and  not  a  priori. 

CHAPTER   XV. 

MYSTIFIED  METAPHYSICS. 
Conception  of  Cause  has  no  a  priori  Basis  in  the  Understanding — Necessity 
as  Basis  of  a  priori  Knowledge,  Insufficient — Necessity  Itself  Known  only 
Empirically — t^  prior i-\sm  Inverts  Order  of  all  Supposable  Cognition — 
Intuition  is  some  Form  of  Apprehension  of  Phenomena — Sensation  the 
Basis  of  all  Intelligence — Content  of  Representation — Capacity  to  Have,  is 
not  Form  of,  Intuition — No  act  of  Understanding  can  be  Unconsciously 
Done — No  Purely  Spontaneous  Activity  of  Subject — Intuition  is  not  an  Un- 
decomposable  Mental  Act —  Unity  (as  distinguished  from  union)  in  any 
Element  of  Thought  is  Unthinkable — Apperception  is  Empirical — Difficul- 
ties of  the  Critique — Cheap  Criticisms. 


CONTENTS.  1 7 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION. 

Press-notices  of  Publications — Interpretation  of  Philosophies — No  Division  of 
Parties  in  Knowledge — No  Fundamental  Principles — Absolute  Certainty, 
Unthink3ble — Consciousness  Necessarily  Empirical — Propositions  must 
Contain  Subject,  Copula,  and  Predicate — Predicating  a  thing  of  Itself  is  no 
Proposition — There  can  be  no  Consciousness  without  Self-consciousness — 
Activity  and  Passivity  to  be  Reciprocal,  must  Determine  each  Other — 
Fichte's  Example  of  Interchangeable  Propositions  is  mere  Difterence  in  the 
Form  of  one  Proposition— The  Validity  of  Memory — The  Past  an  Actuality 
— Memory  is  not  Purely  of  the  Mind — Religion  incompatible  with  Reason — 
Philosophy's  Limit  of  Infinity. 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

SCIENTIFIC  ACCOUNTABILITY. 
Motives  mean  Nothing  without  Their  Sanctions,  and  Sanctions  are  Based  in 
Personal  Interest — Man  can  be  Operated  on  Only  by  Hope  and  Pear,  like 
the  Brute;  the  Difference  is  merely  in  Degree — Moral  Action  Implies  Per- 
sonal Accountability — Reason  Incompatible  with  Morality  and  Religion — 
Intellectual  and  Moral  Powers  are  but  one  Power — All  Intelligence  Acquired, 
and  Moulded  by  an  inherited  Frame-work  of  Thought — Unless  Man  can, 
Independently  of  his  Antecedents  and  Environment,  Determine  his  own 
Constitution  and  Education,  he  cannot  be  Accountable — Reason  cannot  be 
Invoked  to  Verify  Something  not  Understood — Apologetics  Posits  a  Mys- 
tery as  the  Basis  of  Religion,  and  then  Seeks  to  Verify  ihe  Religion  in  Rea- 
son— Conscience  a  Refined  Selfishness,  Provincial  and  Conventional — Con- 
science is  a  Growth,  a  Sanctimonious  Selfishness — The  Christian  Redemp- 
tion, an  Exhibition  of  Pure  Selfishness — Belief  beyond  Control. 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  FALvST. 
The  Tragedy  Sixty  Years  in  Incubation — The  Philosophy  Takes  all  Purpose  Out 
of  Religion—  Nothing  can  be  Thought  as  Self  Limited — Duality  of  Man's 
Nature,  as  Incomprehensible  as  the  Trinality  of  God's  Nature^Parallel 
Between  Faust  and  Job,  Both  were  mere  Chattels — Satan  Imposed  on  in 
Both  Transactions — Divine  Jugglery — No  Possible  Occasion  for  More  than 
One  Compact  in  the  Tragedy — Faust's  Sudden  Transition  from  Philosopher 
to  Rake — No  Duty  without  Freedom — Von  Ihering's  View  ot  Shylock's 
Claim — Dissimulation  is  Dishonest  in  any  Cause — ^Justice  Required  Faust  to 
Refuse  Salvation — Abstract  Principles  Cannot  be  Personified  in  Tragedy. 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

COMPARATIVE    APOLOGETICS. 
Comparison  of  Christianity  and  Buddhism  Implies  Belief  in  Both — Validity  In- 


1 8  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

correctly  Based  on  Popularity — Superiority  of  Buddhism  Implied  in  the 
Argument — Both  Systems  Based  on  Idea  of  Universal  Brotherhood  of  Man 
— The  Divine  Economy  Exhibited  in  Each  System — But  one  True  Re.igion 
Possible — Incongruity  of  Principles  Maintained  as  Essential  to  Each  System 
— Apologetics  Puts  the  Almighty  in  the  Wrong — False-worship  an  Impossi- 
bility— Absurdity  of  Illustration  of  Moral  Principles  in  Physical  Phenomena 
— No  one  ever  Knew  What  he  Believed  in  as  a  Religion — Theology  Cannot 
be  Presented  in  Philosophic  Foim. 

CHAPTER   XX. 

LITERARY  SL'FISM. 
History's  Repetition — Conglomeration  of /.-;»(sin  Emerson's  Alleged  Philosophy — 
Mind  Cannot  Rise  Above  the  Mortal  Condition — Either  Election  or  Univer- 
sal Salvation  Cancels  Duty — Final  Absorption  in  the  Divine  Implies  Prior 
Emanation  From  the  Divine — Election  Forbids  Either  Acceptance  or  Rejec- 
tion of  Divine  Mercy — Optimistic  View  of  Damnation — Absorption  in  the 
Divme  Extinguishes  Individuality,  and  Hence  Cancels  Interest  and  Duty — 
Divine  Creation  of  Man  Unthinkable— A  Philosophic  Religion  Could  Not 
be  Believed — Nature  of  Man  an  Arbitrary  Decree  of  God,  if  He  has  Decreed 
Anything  as  to  Man — Truth  Cannot  be  Illogical. 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

SUBSTANCE  OF  THE  UNSUBSTANTIAL. 
Unification  of  Opinion  Unattainable — More  Confusion  than  Conviction  Results 
From  Philosophy —Reasoning  Adds  Nothing  to  Knowledge— Knowledge 
Cannot  be  Less  than  Certainty — First  Conscious  Experiences  are  not 
Knowledge — Experiences  Must  be  Accumulated  and  Co-ordinated,  to  Con- 
stitute Knowledge — No  Original  Sense  Perceptions — No  Knowledge  Orig- 
al  so  as  to  be  Distinguishable  from  Acquired  Knowledge — No  Sound  Phil- 
osophy can  Consist  of  or  be  Based  on  Assumption— Affections  Cannot  be 
Perceived-  as  Extended— Mind  not  Substance — The  Mental  Cannot  be  Di- 
vorced from  the  Physical — Incipient  Sensibility  a  Degree  of  Intelligence — 
No  Knowledge  Starts  in  Thought — Science  Cannot  Precede  its  Data — 
Mind  is  not  Simply  thought  Conscious  of  Itself —If  each  thought  Involves 
its  Own  Contradictory  it  Cancels  Itself — Memory  is  Duration  of  Thought 
and  is  Necessary  to  Thought  Itself — Impressions  the  Basis  and  Content  of 
all  Intelligence — I'he  Real  is  Real  Independent  of  Sensation — Cogilo  eri:^o 
sum  absurd — -No  one  Ever  Had  the  Idea  of  God  as  the  Absolutely  Perfect 
Being — Truth  is  Invariable — Belief  is  Involuntary  and  Must  be  Caused — 
Accountability  for  Belief  is  Unintelligible. 

CHAPTER   XXn. 

PIOUS    FRAUD    IN    LITERATURE. 
The  Hebrew  Exodus  not  Demanded  by  any  Racial  Characteristic — Bad  Economy 


CONTENTS.  19 

Of  the  Movement— The  Egyptian  the  Most  Ancient  Civilization — The 
Stronger  Side  the  Better  Side— Success  the  Measure  and  Proof  of  Merit — 
Moral  Law  said  to  Inhere  in  the  Nature  of  Things,  and  Execute  Itself 
Throi^gh  the  Instrumentality  of  Men — Then  Christianity  is  an  Imposture, 
and  Duty  an  Absurdity — Without  Sin  There  Can  be  no  Purpose  in  Religion — 
Religion  Should  Cut  the  Acquaintance  of  Science  and  Reason — Original  Sin 
is  the  Bedrock  of  Calvinism — Cowardice  of  Apologetics — Burning  of  Servetus 
— The  Choice  of  the  Almighty — If  He  Exercises  Choice  He  Cannot  be 
Almighty — Religious  Systems  Compete  for  Favor  of  Man — Parallels  Be- 
tween Various  Systems — Whatever  Begins  in  Time  Must  Run  the  Usual 
Course  and  End  in  Time — The  Facts  of  History  Cannot  be  Marshalled  to 
the  Establishment  of  any  Comprehensible  System. 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM. 

No  Definite  Stages  in  Evolution — No  Eras  in  Evolution — Force  Persistent,  and 
Evolution  Continuous — Apparent  Antinomy  in  Doctrine  of  Evolution — 
Science  Never  had  a  Clear  Message  as  to  Future  Evolution  of  Society — ■ 
Experience  the  only  Index  to  the  Future — No  New  Forces,  But  Only 
Change  in  Mode  of  Their  Expression — Regularity  of  Stereotyped  Cries  of 
Alarm — Sentimental  Sympathy  for  Malcontents — The  advent  of  Demos — 
Property  and  Contract  Vital  to  Society — Permanent  Type  and  Ultimate 
Reginie,  Absurd- — Equilibration  Unsupposable — Matter  and  Motion  Essen- 
tial to  Each  Other — Mind  a  Condition  or  Affection  of  Matter — Civilization  a 
Mere  Expression  of  Intellectuality — Hiatus  Between  Workers  and  idlers — 
Function  of  Religion  in  Evolution  of  Society. 


CORRECTIONS. 


Page 

12 

Page 

22. 

Page 

29. 

Page 

255- 

Page 

257. 

Page 

421. 

Page 

456 

Page 

458. 

Page 

402 

Page 

555- 

Title  of  Chap.  4,  Poetical  instead  of  Political. 

Line  8,  circulation  to  life  instead  of  circulation  of  life. 

Line  29,  state  or  habit  instead  o(  state  of  habit. 

Line  35,  inscriptions  instead  of  inscription. 

Line  i,  deals  with  physical  instead  of  deals  physical. 

Line  1 1,  and  down  instead  of  or  down. 

Line  35,  of  religious  instead  of  or  religious. 

Quotation  begins  with  words,  four  hundred  millions. 

Line  5,  not  so  as  instead  of  not  as  so. 

Line  28,  psychological  instead  of  philosophical. 


CHAPTER    I. 

PHILOSOPHIC  APOLOGETICS. 

Butler's  Argument  Presented  to  the  Queen — Erroneously  Termed  an  Analogy — 
Analogy  Would  have  Suggested  Non-resistance— Cause  had  Flourished  Under 
Opposition — Inconsistency  of  Attacks  Upon,  and  Defence  of  Religion 
— Religion  Necessarily  Unreasonable— Spiritual  Existence  can  Neither  be 
Proved  nor  Disproved — Unaccountable  Mystery  in  Physical  Phenomena — 
The  Spiritual  Infinitely  more  Mysterious — Man,  more  than  Animated  Physical 
Substance — Changed  Condition  of  Substance  in  Physical  Death — Desire  for 
Esteem  after  Death,  Based  on  Idea  of  Future  Existence — Spiritual  Phenomena 
Infinitely  more  Abstruse  than  Physical — Religious  Fanaticism  Unduly 
Opposes  Skepticism — Sanction  of  Religion,  Necessarily  a  Future  Existence — 
Analogy  must  be  Continuous — Its  Continuity  Ruins  its  Argument — Analogy 
Between  Physical  and  Spiritual  Existence  implies  eternally  Recurring  Integ- 
rations and  Diffusions  of  Soul-substance — Injustice  of  Punishment — Irrever- 
ence of  Apologetics — Results,  the  only  Reasonable  Argument  for  or 
Against  a  Religious  System. 

A  little  more  than  a  ceiiturv  and  a  half  ago  one  of  the  great- 
est and  most  scholarly  ecclesiastics  of  his  time  presented  to  his 
royal  patroness  a  volume,  intended  as  a  refutation  of  the  blatant 
contumely  of  the  revilers  of  religion,  natural  and  revealed.  The 
apparent  more  than  the  real  plausibility  of  their  objections  was 
supposed  to  be  so  poisonous  and  corrupting  to  the  general  tone 
of  thought,  as  to  threaten  the  very  existence  of  a  religious  sys- 
tem. He  seemed  to  have  forgotten,  or  to  have  overlooked  the 
fact,  that  for  more  than  seventeen  centuries  his  favorite  faith 
had  flourished  and  spread  as  no  other  was  ever  known  to  do, 
and  with  a  regularity  only  interrupted  by  occasional  violence. 
He  could  have  reflected  that  such  interruption  of  the  regularity 
of  its  growth  often  consisted  largely  of  the  fact  that  by  virtue 
of  its  opposition  its  influence  was  increased,  its  cause  promoted, 
and  its  spread  accelerated,  in  almost  exact  ratio  with  the  malig- 
nity of  the  measures  meant  for  its  suppression.  Strangely 
enough  his  work  was  denominated  an  Analogy. 

In  view  of  the  tact  that  the  system  had  made  the  greatest 
strides  in  its  unparalleled  progress  under  unresisted  persecution 
of  a  physical  type,  analogy  might  have  suggested  non-resis- 
tance when  opposition  took  form  in  gibes  and  sneers.     These 


22  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

derived  their  chief  importance  and  rose  to  their  greatest  dignity 
in  the  fact  that  learned  zealots  were  alarmed  at  them,  when 
they  should  not  have  condescended  to  notice  them.  The  lash. 
the  halter,  the  axe,  and  the  stake  had  only  invigorated  the  sys- 
tem they  were  intended  to  destroy.  There  would  seem  then 
to  be  but  little  occasion  tor  alarm  when  the  assaults  were  made 
in  the  mere  empty  ravings  of  the  egotist,  who  was  unable  to 
explain  or  even  conceive  of  the  necessity  of  circulation  of  life. 
Controversial  defense  against  such  attacks  cannot  logically  be 
justified  on  the  ground  that  their  reasoning  was  of  a  kind  likely 
to  prevail  with  intelligent  judgment.  That  would  be  to  admit 
the  validity,  if  not  the  force  of  such  reasoning. 

Indiscriminate  and  unresisted  torture  and  frequent  massacre, 
sanctioned  by  legal  authority,  had  only  served  to  promote  the 
cause  against  which  they  were  levelled;  and  few  enthusiasts 
had  so  far  forgotten  themselves  or  their  faith,  as  to  resist  or 
resent  them,  but  with  more  zeal  than  discretion  the  fanatics 
had  frequently  courted  the  King  of  Terrors.  But  when  the 
attacks  consist  of  windy  words,  ebullitions  of  and  appeals  to 
personal  vanity,  intended  more  to  immortalize  the  name  of  an 
egotist  who  imagined  himself  a  genius,  than  to  demoralize  the 
faith  of  a  Christian  people;  then  the  spunky  soldier  of  the  Cross 
arms  himself  with  a  goose-quill  and  goes  forth  to  battle,  fight- 
ing more  valiantly  for  literary  fame  than  to  vanquish  Apolyon, 
or  to  preserve  the  town  of  Mansoul  from  infernal  captivity. 

These  wordy  wars  have  been  characterized  by  peculiari- 
ties of  tactics  and  by  novelty  of  expedients,  the  parallels  to 
which  are  not  to  be  found  in  any  other  controversial  set-to  of 
which  history  informs  us.  The  reviler  who  could  not  even 
imagine  why  it  is  necessary-  that  his  life-blood  be  periodically 
pumped  through  his  lungs,  and  atmospherically  disinfected, 
arrogantly  sets  himself  up  as  a  rational  disputant  and  arbiter  of 
the  infinitely  finer,  more  complex,  and  abstruse  propositions 
involved  in  the  prevailing  faiths  and  doctrines ;  and  offers  his 
learned  explanations  of  the  alleged  workings  of  the  unknown 
and  uncognizable  mystery  of  the  system  and  dispensation  of 
divine  Providence.  His  explanations  failing  to  explain,  he  not 
only  reasons  but  declares  that  the  system  and  its  doctrines  are 


PHILOSOPHIC   APOLOGETICS.  2) 

a  Stupendous  fraud.  The  zealot  on  the  other  hand,  because  he 
cannot  understand  or  account  either  for  the  system  or  its  alleged 
workings,  violently  contends  for  their  validity,  and,  which  is 
not  onlv  unworthy  his  cause,  but  palpably  unfair  in  all  debate, 
he  dares  the  champion  of  unbelief  to  prove  a  negative, — to 
prove  that  prophecy  was  not  uttered  and  that  miracle  was  not 
done.  Gigantic  minds,  helpless  to  explain  or  even  conceive  of 
the  minutest  movement  in  their  own  workings,  are  thus  en- 
gaged in  settling  the  questions  of  boundary  and  jurisdiction 
between  the  Creator  and  his  creature;  or.  rather,  in  determining 
the  propriety  of  the  creature  allowing  his  Creator  a  place  in 
space,  a  limited  authority,  and  even  existence.  The  reviler, 
unless  he  were  exceedingly  immodest  could  be  silenced  with 
one  simple  question, — "Who  gave  vou  the  reasoning  faculty, 
by  the  abuse  of  which  vou  are  attempting  to  belittle, — you 
know  not  what  ?"  But  more  properly  in  accord  with  the 
dignity  of  Divinity ;  and  more  analogically,  in  view  of  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  the  cause  had  made  its  most  remark- 
able progress,  he  should  not  be  noticed  at  all. 

Zeal,  however,  is  not  discretion.  Fanaticism  is  not  policy. 
Derision  is  not  argument.  Reasoning  which  is  plainly  fallaci- 
ous deserves  no  answer.  To  attempt  to  answer  or  refute  any 
alleged  argument  or  assertion  is  to  admit  its  plausibility;  so  far 
at  least  as  that  if  not  disposed  of,  intelligent  judgment  may  be 
convinced  by  it.  If  an  attack  upon  a  doctrine  or  a  system 
should  be  philosophically  made,  by  one  of  whom  it  is  known 
or  reasonably  to  be  supposed  that  he  knows  some  fact  or  thing 
inimical  to  the  doctrine  or  system  assailed,  defense  might  be- 
come advisable.  But  to  resist  or  resent  an  assault,  made  by 
one  of  whom  it  must  be  known  that  he  cannot  know  any  fact 
or  thing  necessarily  inimical  to  the  doctrine  or  system  assailed, 
is  to  dignify  the  assailant  with  undeserved  attention,  and  give 
his  attack  the  only  importance  it  can  have;  it  is  to  fall  into  the 
very  snare  set  for  unwary  belicose  loquacity, — and  generally 
results,  as  it  should,  in  an  exhibition  of  the  empty  egotism  of 
both  the  contending  parties. 

A  modern  editor  of  the  volume  in  question  has  introduced 
it  to  the  western  world  in  terms  as  commendatory  as   can  be 


24  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

formulated  in  the  English  language.  He  proclaims  its  alleged 
metaphysical  invulnerabilitv.  and  illogicallv  declares  that  of 
the  system  of  which  the  volume  is  supposed  to  be  the  strong- 
est bulwark,  but  which  in  case  of  invulnerabilitv  could  need 
no  defence.  He  invites  controversv  in  a  manner  which,  to  a 
profound  reasonei'.  would  make  him  appear  at  least  eccentric. 
He  defiantlv  dares  unbelief  to  prove  a  negative,  when  it  is  plainly 
apparent  that  neither  partv  could  reallv  know  anv  thing  affect- 
ing the  question  further  than  it  is  to  be  inferred  from  the  rise, 
progress,  prevalence,  and  effect  of  the  svstem  assailed.  Why 
an  apologist  assuming  the  airs  and  proportions  of  a  rationalis- 
tic disputant  should  place  the  cause  he  appears  to  atfect  so 
deeply,  at  such  disadvantage,  and  ask  for  a  suspension  of  the 
invariable  rules  of  all  debate  and  of  all  evidence,  by  reciuiring 
the  plaintiff  to  anticipate  the  defence,  set  aside  miracle  and 
prove  that  prophecy  was  not  uttered,  involves  the  consider- 
ation of  a  system  of  controversial  tactics  that  logical  dispu- 
tants are  not  likely  to  be  prepared  for. 

if  one  proposes  to  champion  a  cause,  or  to  vindicate  a 
doctrine  by  reasoning,  he  should  be  able  and  readv  to  proceed 
fairly  and  squarelv  in  the  debate.  If  he  assumes  as  true  cer- 
tain alleged  facts  out  of  the  usual  order,  and  incapable  of  proof 
by  usual  methods,  and  immaterial  in  themselves  to  the  valid- 
ity of  his  doctrine  in  its  essence,  he  has  not  vanquished  a 
harmless  foe  by  daring  him  to  the  senseless  and  impossible 
attempt  to  disprove  them.  If  the  attack  upon  a  prevailing 
faith  or  doctrine  deserves  anv  resistance  or  notice  whatever,  it 
is  extremely  illogical  and  impolitic  to  offer  the  defence  in  an 
attempt  to  show  the  validity  of  the  doctrine  or  system  assailed, 
unless  it  can  be  palpably  demonstrated.  To  begin  with  as- 
sumptions and  then  reason  elaborately  and  infer  from  them,  is 
to  take  a  wide  range  in  discourse  and  then  finally  rest  on  the 
same  quicksand  from  which  one  starts. 

In  such  case  there  can  be  but  one  course  likely  to  be  suc- 
cessfully taken  and  at  the  same  time  ivorthy  the  cause  de- 
fended. Suppose,  as  was  the  case  which  is  said  to  have  in- 
spired or  provoked  the  volume  in  question,  a  general  attack 
is  made  upon  the   prevailing  religion.     If  history  is  true  we 


PHILOSOPHIC    APOLOGETICS.  2^ 

know  of  one  fact  which  ahnost  demonstrates  the  validity  of 
the  religion.  That  fact  is  its  effect  wherever  the  religion  pre- 
vails. Both  pa.rties  are  equally  well  acquainted  with  that  fact, 
and  neither  of  them  can  possibly  know  any  other  fact  militat- 
ing either  for  or  against  it.  In  case  of  such  an  attack  upon 
such  a  system,  its  adherents  should  not  be  disturbed  by,  nor 
appear  to  notice  it.  Omnipotence  is  in  no  danger, — but  if  the 
zealot  feels  that  he  must  do  something  for  the  help  of  the  Lord 
he  should  not  stand  on  the  defensive,  he  should  attack  the 
assailant.  He  should,  and  if  he  is  a  rationalist  he  could,  show 
the  utter  fallacy  of  the  argument  of  the  assailant.  If  the  faith 
is  based  on  anvthing  supernatural  or  miraculous,  which  it  must 
be  if  it  is  divine,  so  far  at  least,  it  certainly  cannot  be  defended 
in  reason.  It  cannot  be  supernatural,  miraculous,  nor  divine, 
if  it  is  merelv  reasonable;  such  as  might  be  accounted  for  by 
the  human  understanding  reasoning  from  some  known  sub- 
stantive fact.  If  it  had  been  reasonable  merely  its  Founder 
*  would  scarcely  have  performed  anv  miracle  to  inspii'e  fiith  in 
it  or  in  Him  when  here  teaching  and  establishing  it.  He 
would  have  declared  the  doctrine  and  given  the  reasons  for  its 
validity.  The  verv  fact  that  miracles  were  performed,  if  they 
were,  is  the  best  of  I'easons  for  holding  that  reason  was  insuf- 
ficient to  authenticate  it.  in  other  words,  that  it  is  not  reason- 
able, it  is  no  answer  to  object  to  the  authenticity  of  those 
miracles  said  to  have  been  performed  bv  the  Founder  and  his 
followers  eighteen  centuries  ago,  as  if  they  were  the  only  ones, 
and  that  the  validitv  of  the  svstem  depends  upon  the  truth  of 
the  disputed  account  of  their  performance.  They  may  have 
been  the  most  palpable  and  demonstrative  outwardly ;  but 
thev  appear  to  have  been  followed  by  a  standing,  coiitinuous 
miracle,  consisting  in  part  of  the  growth  and  prevalence  of  the 
system,  notwithstanding  the  follv  and  fanaticism  of  its  pro- 
mulgators; and  in  part  of  its  effect  wherever  it  prevails.  So, 
as  above  stated,  if  history  is  true,  both  parties  know  the  same 
and  the  onlv  substantive  fact,  which  in  the  coldest  reason 
seems  to  almost  demonstrate  the  divinity  of  the  doctrine. 

Now  It  is  assailed  by  some  on  the  ground  that  it  is  not 
reasonable.     Then    it   is    defended   by   its    apologists   on    the 


2(>  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ground  that  it  is  miraculous,  but  the  defence  is  vitiated  in  an 
attempt  to  show  that  it  is  also  reasonable.  These  two  defences 
are  incompatible  with  each  other,  so  that  so  far  as  such  argument 
is  concerned  the  assailant  has  the  advantage.  But  as  above 
stated  the  defender  could  attack  and  show  the  fallacy  of  the 
reviler's  argument.  There  is  the  above  named  standing  mir- 
acle to  start  from,  the  facts  and  circumstances  of  which  must 
be  equally  well  known  by  both  parties,  and.  waiving  the  ver- 
acity of  the  disputed  account  of  the  earlier  ones  the  zealot 
should  ask  the  scotfer  to  account  for  this  with  his  reason.  At 
that  point  reasoning  controversy  would  stop.  The  truth  is.  it 
is  the  glory  of  the  system  that  it  does  not  have  to  be  reason- 
able to  be  divine.  It  is  above  and  beyond  reason.  Its  apolo- 
gists belittle  it  when  they  attempt  to  make  it  appear  reason- 
able. To  be  reasonable  it  must  be  within  the  comprehension 
of  reasonable  creatures,  man  must  be  capable  of  comprehend- 
ing it.  It  is  arrogance,  verging  closely  to  blasphemy,  for  any 
mortal  man  to  claim  that  he  can  comprehend  it. 

It  is  cowardly  catering  to  the  imperious  impotence  of  un- 
belief to  obsequiously  seek  the  opportunity  to  reason  with  it, 
and  attempt  to  convince  its  judgment  in  order  to  obtain  its 
approval,  or  to  get  rid  of  its  objections.  The  most  that  can  be 
said  against  it  is  that  one  does  not  comprehend,  and  hence 
will  not  believe  it.  The  rest  that  is  said  against  it  is  mainly 
scoff  and  sneer.  If  that  is  sufficient  not  merely  to  cause  doubt, 
but  to  produce  active  disbelief,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  that 
which  passes  for  useful  knowledge  which  is  without  founda- 
tion and  invalid.  Examples  are  obvious.  In  a  certain  familiar 
science  it  is  established  that  a  certain  set  of  ducts  conveys  the 
life-blood  from  the  heart  to  everv  part  of  the  body ;  that 
another  set  conveys  it  back  again  to  the  heart;  that  friction, 
elastic  compression  and  gravitation,  are  all  overcome  by  some 
vital  power  in  transmitting  it  both  ways.  What  is  that 
power  ?  By  whom  and  how  is  it  generated  and  maintained  } 
Why  is  it  that  a  pin-scratch  will  stop  the  wondrous  working 
of  that  power  and  send  a  soul  to  eternity  in  an  instant  }  On 
the  same  principle  as  that  upon  which  the  scoffer  denies  the 
existence  of  his  Maker,  and  with  the  same  propriety,  he  might 


PHILOSOPHIC    APOLOGETICS.  27 

against  his  own  actual  knowledge  to  the  contrary  say  that  no 
such  power  exists,  or  that  immediate  death  would  not  neces- 
sarily result  from  lacerating  the  heart.  No  man  knows  any- 
thing about  that  power,  nor  how  nor  why  so  insignificant  a 
thing  as  a  pin-scratch  should  utterly  and  instantly  destroy  it. 

A  great  deal  of  the  noblest  and  most  important  wisdom 
with  which  the  world  is  blest,  and  much  of  the  learning  with 
which  it  is  cursed,  are  obtained  by  visual  inspection  of  parch- 
ment and  paper  upon  which  certain  characters  were  inscribed 
ages  ago.  Vv'hich  serve  as  the  conduit  through  which  the 
thought  of  antiquity  is  transmitted  to  us.  By  beholding  cer- 
tain parcels  of  such  material  we  can  see  Sardanapalus  doting 
over  his  Myrrha.  the  just  indignation  of  Salamenes.  and  hear 
the  Greek  Slave  protest  with  her  royal  lover  against  the  reck- 
less indulgence  of  his  lust  which  consigned  them  hand  in  hand 
to  the  pyre,  composed  of  one  of  the  noblest  edifices  of  antiqu- 
ity. By  beholding  another  we  may  see  the  greatest  philoso- 
pher the  world  has  known,  lift  the  fatal  cup  to  his  lips,  and 
hear  him  mildly  reprove  his  friends  for  weeping  at  so  trifling 
an  affair  as  his  death.  When  some  savant  succeeds  in  reason- 
ing his  Maker  out  of  existence  he  should  then  explain  these 
phenomena,  or  else  proceed  with  his  reasoning  to  show  that 
they  are  not. 

We  are  continuously  in  contact  with,  and  perception  of 
phenomena  of  a  material  type,  which  cannot  be  accounted  for. 
No  one  can  tell  why  a  bud  swells  and  bursts,  and  expands 
into  and  forms  a  leaf.  If  it  is  caused  by  a  combination  of  the 
influences  or  effects  of  a  certain  temperature  with  moisture, 
and  the  chemical  properties  of  the  soil  from  which  it  springs, 
what  produces  or  causes  such  combination  ?  If  this  is  motion, 
which  is  supposed  to  vitalize  and  maintain  all  organic  exis- 
tence, what  produces  or  causes  such  motion  }  Why  is  it  that 
a  clot  of  blood  as  large  as  a  pea,  lodged  on  some  of  the  con- 
volutions of  the  brain  will  totally  destroy  some  of  the  mental 
powers  }  These  subjects  are  tangible,  physical,  and  may  be 
apprehended  by  means  of  the  senses.  If  their  various  condi- 
tions at  the  various  stages  and  under  the  various  circumstances 
of  their  existence  cannot  be  accounted  for,  when  we  have  the 


28  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

facts  consisting  of  the  condition,  stage,  and  circumstance, 
palpably  before  us  to  reason  from,  how  can  we  account  for,  or 
know  anything  about  the  conditions  of  the  spirit,  the  exis- 
tence of  which  at  any  stage  and  under  any  circumstances,  is 
less,  if  at  all  palpable  to  any  of  our  senses  ? 

The  brain  may  be  chemically  analyzed  and  reduced  to  its 
ultimate  material  components,  but  no  one  will  claim  that  it  is 
then  understood.  It  is  universally  recognized  as  the  throne  of 
the  kingdom  of  Mind,  but  no  one  will  claim  to  know  how  it 
is  tenanted.  The  peculiarity  of  its  substance  and  construction 
seems  to  render  it  more  appropriately  adapted  to  the  office 
of  thought  than  any  other  organ,  but  portions  of  the  same,  or 
a  precisely  similar  substance  permeate  every  part  of  the  body; 
yet  no  one  will  attempt  to  explain  why  all  thought  is  evolved 
in  the  brain.  One  in  the  prime  of  his  mental  manhood  may 
give  utterence  to  a  beautitlil.  a  grand,  a  sublime  thought,  the 
production  or  deduction  of  the  brain.  A  bodkin  may  pierce 
his  heart,  and  he  is  not  a  man.  There  would  be  no  physical 
change  in  the  constituent  elements  of  the  brain,  but  in  a  mo- 
ment after  it  is  found  to  be  pure  animal  substance,  having  un- 
dergone no  change  except  having  ceased  to  act  as  it  ceased  to 
be  properly  acted  upon.  It  cannot  thereafter  conceive  a  thought. 
Something,  perhaps  not  a  physical  substance,  but  something 
has  departed  from  it.  Perhaps  it  departed  because  the  cessa- 
tion of  the  inlluence  of  the  heart's  action  rendered  it  untenant- 
able by  such  occupant, — the  being  which  was  there  a  moment 
ago.  reasoning  that  there  is  no  God  because  it  could  not  com- 
prehend Him.  and  that  its  own  departure  from  its  tenement  of 
cellular  tissue  and  gray  matter  terminates  its  existence,  if 
that  occupant  which  has  so  departed  is  a  power,  condition,  or 
capacity,  it  may  still  be  as  substantial  as  any  one  ought  to 
claim  that  a  soul  can  be,  and  there  is  but  little  in  a  name.  Un- 
less we  know  something  about  that  occupant  or  thing  which 
has  so  departed,  we  are  not  justified  in  saying  that  it  does- not 
thereafter  exist  at  all,  merely  because  we  no  longer  find  it  occu- 
pying the  particular  substance  which  we  know  it  lately  occu- 
pied. We  knew  too  little  about  it  when  in  personal  contact 
with  it  to  conjecture  what  became  of  it  in  its  departure.     Some 


PHILOSOPHICS    APOLOGETICS.  2q 

of  the  thought  it  evolved  and  gave  to  the  world  may  still  exist, 
retained  in  some  one's  memory,  or  perhaps  chronicled  in  some 
scoffer's  philosophy.  Such  existence  mav  not  be  veiy  sub- 
stantial, yet  it  mav  be  sutl^icientlv  materialistic  to  imply  the 
continuous  existence  of  the  late  occupant  of  the  defunct  brain. 

Unless  one  knows  something  definite  of  a  subject  his  argu- 
ment relating  thereto  ought  not  to  alarm  anv  one.  No  one  can 
possibly  know  what  it  is,  or  is  not.  or  that  nothing  is  beyond 
the  grave,  more  certainly  than  he  can  know  what  is,  or  is  not, 
or  that  nothing  is  beyond  the  limit  to  which  vision  has  reached 
in  space.  Out  to  a  certain  limit  in  space  it  is  demonstrated 
that  certain  celestial  systems  exist.  By  analogv  we  may  rea- 
sonably presume  that  other  similar  ones  exist  beyond,  and  be- 
yond, until  the  imagination  staggers  at  the  inconceivable  vast. 
Down  to  a  certain  point  in  human  existence  it  is  demonstrated 
that  the  person  is  more  than  a  mere  animated  aggregation  of 
substance.  The  animated  substance  itself  does  not  perish,  it 
does  not  go  out  of  existence,  it  merely  changes  place,  form  and 
condition;  and  this  it  is  constantly  doing  even  while  it  com- 
poses the  substantive  part  of  the  person.  The  othei'.  the  more, 
may  be  a  mere  impersonal  abstraction,  and  still  it  is  morally 
certain  to  exist  beyond  physical  life  in  the  memory  of  those 
who  knew  it  in  life. 

it  is  rational,  at  least  it  is  almost  universal,  to  desire  to  be 
remembered  with  esteem  after  death.  There  would  be  no 
basis  for  such  desire  if  death  was  absolutely  the  end  of  the  per- 
son's existence.  Such  desire  is  in  the  nature  of  a  state  or  a 
habit  of  mind.  Then  mind  would  seem  to  be  more  than  a  mere 
impersonal  abstraction,  more  than  a  mere  state  of  habit. 

What  is  said  here,  and  perhaps  all  that  can  be  said,  may  not 
prove  the  existence  of  the  soul  after  physical  death,  or  the  claim 
to  superiority  or  validity  of  any  religious  system.  But  I  think 
it  is  shown  that  no  one  can  know  anything  so  inimical  to  the 
claims  of  such  systems  as  to  justify  him  in  calling  them  fraudu- 
lent, where  the  most  that  is  known  of  them  is  such  as  the 
world  must  recognize  as  the  benign  result  of  the  prevalence  of 
Christianity.  The  prevalence  of  that  system  bred  and  fostered 
the  civilization  which  made  the  intellectual  attainment  possible. 


^O  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

bv  means  of  which  the  scoffer  is  enabled  to  make  an  egregious 
ass  of  himself  in  I'eviling  the  very  system  to  which  he  owes 
whatever  attainment  he  has. 

1  think  it  follows  that  when  such  system  is  attacked  in  a 
course  of  reasoning,  its  adherents  should  not  become  its  de- 
fenders. They  might  point  to  its  workings  and  effects  and  ask 
the  scoffer  to  account  for  them,  or  they  might  ask  him  to  ex- 
plain and  account  for  physical  and  mental  phenomena  such  as 
I  have  mentioned.  Let  him  e.xplain  the  power,  or  whatever  it 
may  be.  that  electrifies  the  millions  of  nerve  cells  and  Ilbres, 
and  how  it  is  that  intelligence  is  instantaneously  transmitted 
from  the  remotest  peripheral  frontier,  to  the  central  ofhce  in  the 
optic  thalamus,  and  is  thence  instantaneously  distributed  over 
thousands  of  lines  of  communication  to  incite  and  direct  organic 
action.  Science  has  discovered  the  facts,  let  reason  account  for 
them,  or  else  permit  their  great  Author  to  exist. 

But  unfortunately  unbelief  has  not  monopolized  egotism. 
There  are  those  in  the  faith  who  are  afflicted  with  an  itch  for 
fame  that  cannot  be  allayed  by  rubbing  the  back  against  a 
tombstone.  They  seem  to  fancy  they  know  something,  and  that 
they  are  forbidden  to  bury  their  talent  in  the  earth.  Their  self- 
conceit  is  not  to  be  gratified  by  an  easy  victory,  such  as  1  have 
shown  can  be  achieved  by  calling  on  the  scoffer  for  his  data, 
or  asking  him  to  account  for  certain  well  known  phenomena. 
The  importance  of  his  assault  is  first  magnified  so  he  may  be 
considered  a  Ibe  worthy  the  defender's  steel,  and  the  validity  of 
his  reasoning  is  so  far  admitted  as  to  justify  the  zealot  in  enter- 
ing the  arena  with  him.  They  then  lash  and  thrust  each  other 
unmercifully,  and  the  world  is  editled  with  an  exhibition  of 
personal  prowess  in  a  contest  which  settles  nothing  beyond  its 
own  futility.  The  zealots  vanity  (ambition?)  will  be  more 
gratefully  gratified  in  a  display  of  his  own  wisdom  than  in 
demonstrating  that  his  opponent  has  none,  or  has  not  sut^icient 
to  overthrow  the  system  assailed. 

In  the  volume  in  question  the  reviler's  attack  is  given  its 
chief  importance  in  the  beginning  of  the  book,  it  is  said, 
"Strange  difficulties  have  been  raised  by  some  concerning  per- 
sonal identity,  or  the  sameness  of  living  agents,  implied  in  the 


PHILOSOPHIC    APOLOGETICS.  3  I 

notion  of  our  existing  now  and  hereafter,  or  in  anv  two  suc- 
cessive moments;     *     *     -^^     '''■/■ 

The  objection  is  admitted  to  be  a  difticuUv,  and  a  vcrv 
deeply  learned  and  labored  volume  is  written  to  get  rid  of  it. 
So  far  as  the  individual  is  personally  concerned,  there  woLild 
seem  to  be  but  one  object  in  attempting  to  show  that  such 
personal  identity  does  not  continue  alter  the  physical  death. 
That  would  be  to  enfranchise  the  mind,  to  relieve  it  of  what  a 
so-called  atheism  seems  to  regard  a  slavish  subjection  to  an  im- 
agined superior  power,  enforced  bv  fear  of  ill  in  an  imaginary 
future.  If  atheism  should  establish  that  there  is  no  such  con- 
tinuous personal  identity,  it  would  rationally  follow  that  there 
could  be  no  present  responsibility  for  future  consequences;  and 
hence,  so  far  as  the  individual  is  concerned,  no  system  of  relig- 
ion based  on  the  idea  of  such  continuous  existence  could  be 
valid,  it  could  have  no  efficacious  sanction.  So  both  parties 
base  Christianity  on  the  basest  of  human  motives, — selfishness. 
The  scoffer's  object  then  seems  to  be  to  establish  that  the  doc- 
trine of  Christianity  is  absurd  because  he  does  not  find  it  in 
accord  with  what  he  regards  the  reasonable  deductions  to  be 
made  from  his  observations  of  physical  phenomena.  More 
accurately,  he  ridicules  it  because  he  cannot  understand  it. 

The  zealot  then  attempts  to  establish  the  validity  of  the 
doctrine  of  Christianity  by  reasoning  from  what  he  terms  the 
analogy  of  Nature.  It  is  clear  that  there  can  be  but  one  fair 
way  to  reason  from  such  supposed  analogy.  That  is  to  take 
the  whole  "constitution  and  course  of  nature"  so  far  as  it  relates 
to  the  example  cited  in  drawing  the  analogy,  and  then  analog- 
ically trace  the  inferences  and  deductions  to  their  final  results. 
To  do  this  one  must  know  all  about  nature  so  far  as  it  relates 
to  the  example  cited,  he  must  know  that  what  he  hypothecates 
or  postulates  therein  must  be  as  he  hypothecates  or  postulates 
it.  Otherwise  his  starting  point  is  mere  quick-sand.  To  insist 
on  the  continuance  of  personal  identity  and  existence  after 
physical  death  because  of  any  supposed  analogy  thereto  in 
nature,  one  must  suppose  the  subsequent  existence  and  con- 
tinuance to  be  analogous  to  that  which  we  see  in  physical  life. 


^2  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

and  upon  which  we  base  the  analogy.  Analogy  argues  noth- 
ing (much  less  it  proves)  further  than  it  extends  and  applies. 

The  Apologist  says.  "'From  our  being  born  into  the  present 
world  in  the  helpless  imperfect  state  of  infancy,  and  having 
arrived  from  thence  to  mature  age,  we  find  it  to  be  a  general 
law  of  nature  in  our  own  species,  that  the  same  creatures,  the 
same  individuals,  should  exist  in  different  degrees  of  life  and 
perception,  with  capacities  of  action,  of  enjoyment,  and  suffer- 
ing, in  one  period  of  their  being,  greatly  different  from  those 
appointed  to  them  in  another  period  of  it.  *  *  *  ^  But 
the  states  of  life  in  which  we  existed  formerly,  in  the  womb 
and  in  our  infancy,  are  almost  as  different  from  our  present,  in 
mature  age,  as  it  is  possible  to  conceive  any  two  states  or  de- 
grees of  life  can  be.  Therefore,  that  we  are  to  exist  hereafter 
in  a  state  as  different  (suppose)  from  our  present,  as  this  is  from 
our  former,  is  but  according  to  the  analogy  of  nature;  accord- 
ing to  a  natural  order  or  appointment,  of  the  very  same  kind 
with  what  we  have  already  experienced." 

Let  us  test  the  validity  of  this  so-called  analogy.  Because 
we  may  have  had  a  physical  existence  for  three  score  and  ten 
years,  shall  we  assume  therefrom  that  we  shall  have  a  spiritual 
existence  throughout  eternity  }  If  existence  after  death  and 
throughout  eternity  is  to  be  proved  by  analogy  with  nature, 
the  present  existence  should,  analogically,  be  shown  to  be  the 
sequel  to  an  existence  prior  and  analogous  to  it,  and  so  back- 
ward to  the  earliest  dawn  of  eternity.  The  future  existence 
caimot  be  analogous  to  the  present  existence  unless  the  present 
is  successive  to  a  prior  one.  If  the  survival  by  the  living  agent 
of  this  tluxation.  or  the  continuance  therein  ol  the  personal 
identity  argues  a  future  existence  to  all  eternity,  it  must  with 
the  same  propriety  and  tbrce  argue  a  prior  existence /ro///  all 
eternity.  That  which  is  never  to  cease,  cannot  be  imagined  to 
have  had  a  beginning.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  any- 
thing in  lime  has  its  parallel  in  eternity. 

The  apologist  says.  "Vv'e  cannot  argue  from  the  reason  of 
the  thing,  that  death  is  the  destruction  ofliving  agents,  because 
we  know  not  at  all  what  death  is  in  itself:  but  only  some  of  its 
effects,  such  as  the  dissolution  of  flesh,  skin,  and  bones:  and 


PHILOSOPHIC    APOLOGETICS.  33 

these  effects  do  in  no  wise  appear  to  imply  the  destruction  of  a 
living  agent.'"  By  a  parity  of  reasoning  birth,  the  organization 
of  the  flesh,  skin  and  bones  into  the  individual  existence  does 
not  imply  the  creation  of  the  living  agent.  But  if  such  birth, 
organization,  does  not  imply  the  creation  or  bringing  into  being 
of  the  living  agent,  it  is  diftkult  to  conceive  how  or  when  it 
originates.  If  it  does  imply  the  creation  or  bringing  into  being 
of  the  living  agent,  then  a  new  soul  is  created  for  each  and 
every  embryo  that  reaches  the  period  of  gestation  at  which 
there  is  foetal  life,  and  a  puerperal  accident  may  land  it  in 
eternity  with  the  sins  of  its  guilty  progenitors  on  its  head. 
The  organization  of  the  foetus  by  the  coition  of  the  parents 
must  be  the  creation  of  the  soul,  or  at  least  birth  must  be  the 
production  of  the  soul.  Otherwise  the  soul  must  have  always 
existed,  and,  as  it  goes  from  the  childish  prattle  and  utter  irre- 
sponsibility of  infancy  in  the  course  of  an  ordinary  lifetime,  to 
the  wicked  purpose  and  fatal  accountability  of  mature  manhood, 
it  must  have  been  in  a  very  extreme  state  of  un-organization 
and  irresponsibility  a  few  cycles  back  in  eternity.  I  do  not 
pretend  to  say  what  may  or  may  not  be.  I  am  not  attempting 
to  prescribe  or  limit  Omnipotent  Power.  I  am  speaking  of 
reasoning  from  Analogy.  If  it  appears  in  such  reasoning  that 
the  living  agent  is  not  atfected  by,  but  continues  to  exist  after 
the  physical  death,  it  ought  also  to  appear  that  it  was  not 
affected  by,  but  had  existed  before  the  physical  birth.  Other- 
wise the  analogy  is  imperfect  and  unfair  and  the  reasoning 
therefrom  is  necessarily  fallacious. 

As  above  shown  the  apologist  says  that  the  survival  by  the 
individual  of  the  several  changes  of  life  is  analogy  sufficient 
from  which  to  infer  the  continuance  after  death  of  the  same 
living  agent,  in  form  and  condition  as  different  from  the  pres- 
ent, as  the  mature  is  different  from  the  embryonic  state.  If 
that  is  correct,  it  is  also  sufficient  from  which  to  infer  the  indi- 
vidual existence  prior  to  birth  of  the  same  living  agent,  in  form 
and  condition  as  different  from  any  of  them  as  they  can  be  from 
each  other.  If  it  is  to  exist  after  physical  death  to  all  eternity, 
it  must  have  existed  before  physical  birth  from  all  eternity. 
Analogy  furnishes  as  much  and  as  valid  argument  for  one  of 


34  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

these  existences  as  for  the  other,  and  no  other  anological  argu- 
ment can  be  valid.  The  analogical  apologist  then  is  committed 
to  the  Oriental  doctrine  of  transmigration,  which  he  probably 
did  not  contemplate  when  he  started  out  to  authenticate  the 
doctrine  of  Christianity  by  reasoning  from  its  supposed  "anal- 
ogy to  the  constitution  and  course  of  nature."  it  would  seem 
much  safer  to  relv  on  the  disputed  account  of  the  miraculous 
foundation  of  the  Faith,  than  to  attempt  to  verify  its  claims  to 
genuineness  by  reasoning  from  any  such  supposed  analogy. 

inferences  backward  are  as  legitimate  and  reasonable  as  in- 
ferences forward,  especially  when  all  the  space  and  time  in 
which  their  conclusions  are  posited  are  (or  relate  to  affairs)  out- 
side the  sphere  and  period  occupied  by  the  facts  reasoned  from, 
the  facts  on  which  we  base  the  analogv.  The  apologist  him- 
self says.  "Thus  in  the  daily  course  of  natural  providence.  God 
operates  in  the  very  same  manner  as  in  the  dispensations  of 
Christianity;  making  one  thing  subservient  to  another;  this  to 
somewhat  farther;  and  so  on.  through  a  progressive  series  of 
means,  which  extend  both  backivard  and  forward,  beyond  our 
utmost  view."  But  without  this  unintended  concession,  lam 
confident  that  no  profound  and  fair  rationalist  will  object  to 
what  I  have  said  about  fairness  and  validity  in  analogical  reas- 
oning. The  analogy  must  be  taken  entire  and  not  in  parts, 
and  must  be  traced  whichever  wav  it  leads  to  its  necessary 
logical  results.  If  when  thus  dealt  with  it  proves  too  much,  it 
is  as  bad  as  if  when  traced  in  the  most  favorable  direction  it 
fails  to  prove  enough. 

The  apologist  says.  'That  which  makes  the  question  con- 
cerning a  future  life  to  be  of  so  great  importance  to  us.  is  our 
capacity  of  happiness  and  misery.  And  that  which  makes  the 
consideration  of  it  to  be  of  so  great  importance  to  us.  is  the 
supposition  of  our  happiness  and  misery  hereafter,  depending 
upon  our  actions  here." 

He  proceeds  therefrom  to  write  a  chapter  to  show  the  sup- 
posed validity  of  his  proposition,  that  happiness  and  misery 
after  death  depend  upon  the  conduct  in  life.  He  adduces 
alleged  analogies  in  nature,  such  as  dissipation  and  disease, 
depravity  and  degradation,  profligacy  and  penury,  and  numer- 


PHILOSOPHIC   APOLOGETICS.  35 

OLis  Others,  each  in  contrast  with  its  respective  antithesis. 
While  I  think  the  analogies  and  the  arguments  therefrom  are 
not  fair,  because  sufficient  attention  is  not  given  to  personal 
constitution  and  environment,  yet  1  shall  not  wholly  reject  them 
until  they  are  duly  considered.  Neither  shall  1  deny  that  future 
happiness  and  misery  are  dependent  upon  present  conduct. 
But  ifthe  analogies  were  fair  the  reasoning  is  unfoir,  or  rather  it 
establishes  nothing  because  it  is  incomplete.  Traced  to  its 
necessary  analogical  results,  if  future  happiness  and  misery  de- 
pend upon  the  conduct  in  this  life,  and  if  misery  after  physical 
death  is  the  due  reward  of  bad  conduct  in  this  life,  then  the 
miseries  of  this  life  must  be  the  due  reward  of  bad  conduct  in 
an  existence  prior  to  it.  It  matters  not  that  we  fancy  we  can 
attribute  present  miseries  to  causes  arising  in  this  life.  Analog- 
ically, we  may  as  well  hold  that  bad  conduct  in  a  prior  exis- 
tence entailed  our  present  misery  through  the  instrumentality, 
or  as  an  apparent  result  of,  the  causes  to  which  we  attribute 
them,  which  causes  are  themselves  miseries,  and  may  be  like- 
wise superinduced,  as  to  hold  that  it  should  entail  it  directly, 
and  without  the  agency  of  such  bad  conduct  in  this  life ;  or, 
that  bad  conduct  in  this  life  will  entail  misery  directly  or  indi- 
rectly in  a  future  life. 

Now,  there  is  a  cardinal  principle  of  morals  which  I  believe 
no  rationalist  ever  did,  or  ever  will  dispute.  It  is  that  punish- 
ment not  understood,  and  the  reasons  for  which  are  to  the  suf- 
ferer unknown,  is  unjust.  Yet  the  apologist  argues  that  the 
miseries  of  the  future  life  are  the  deserved  punishment  of  bad 
conduct  in  this  life.  Unless  we  know  the  wickedness  of  which 
we  were  guilty  in  the  life  prior  to  the  present  life,  and  for  which 
we  suffer  present  pain,  the  punishment  is  unjust.  Analogical- 
ly, we  have  no  reason  to  believe  we  will  in  the  future  life  know 
any  more  about  the  reason  for  its  torments,  than  we  now  know 
about  the  bad  conduct  of  the  life  prior  to  the  present  life  which 
entailed  our  present  miseries.  In  either  case  we  may  know  we 
suffer  without  knowing  that  we  are  punished  in  retributive 
justice.  So  with  the  child  which  dies  from  an  inherited  dis- 
ease,— regarded  as  a  punishment  for  bad  conduct,  it  is  not  only 
unjust,  it  is  barbarous  and  absurd. 


^6  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

Thus  it  appears  that  while  the  system  defended  needs  no 
support,  it  can  derive  none  from  any  sound  and  legitimate  rea- 
soning from  any  supposed  "analogy  to  the  constitution  and 
course  of  nature."  Certainly  it  has  derived  none  from  the  great 
bulwark  erected  for  its  defence  in  the  volume  in  question. 

While  there  is  quite  a  good  deal  of  the  devotional  and  e.x- 
hortative  parts  of  the  work  which  appears  to  be  written  in  a 
true  Christian  spirit,  yet  I  believe  that  nothing  can  be  much 
more  irreverent  and  deleterious  to  Christianity  itself,  than  a 
complacent  affectation  of  an  easy  familiarity  with  the  ways  of 
Infinite  Wisdom.  They  are  hopelessly  and  eternally  beyond 
the  possibility  of  human  comprehension.  It  cannot  tend  other- 
wise than  to  belittle  the  system  and  doctrine  of  Christianity,  to 
attempt  to  reconcile  egotistical  unbelief  by  dragging  the  doc- 
trine from  the  zenith  of  its  divinity  to  the  level  of  a  human  un<- 
derstanding.  'if  they  hear  not  Moses  and  the  prophets, 
neither  will  they  be  persuaded  though  one  rose  from  the  dead." 
If  eighteen  centuries  of  almost  uninterrupted,  unprecedented, 
and  otherwise  unaccountable  progress  in  civilization,  and  moral 
and  intellectual  attainment,  argue  nothing  to  self-conceited 
philosophy,  it  certainly  cannot  be  convinced  by  argument  from 
alleged  analogies  which  do  not  hold  good,  but  which,  traced  to 
their  necessary  logical  results  end  in  palpable  absurdity. 

As  above  indicated,  history  conclusively  establishes  the 
fact  that  ever  since  the  foundation  of  Christianity  there  has  been 
a  phenomenal  improvement  in  the  mental,  moral,  and  intel- 
lectual phases  of  human  life  wherever  the  light  of  that  system 
has  shone.  Where  it  has  not  shone  there  has  been  no  such 
result.  There  is  no  analogy  to  this  in  nature,  and  it  cannot  be 
e.xplained  or  intelligibly  accounted  for  by  any  process  of  reason- 
ing from  any  known  fact  or  supposable  analogy.  Such  a  sys- 
tem in  such  case  cannot  need  any  apologist's  defence.  It 
asserts  itself,  and  if  it  is  genuine  it  manifests  its  own  genuine- 
ness. If  it  affords  man  the  opportunity  to  escape  impending 
and  perhaps  merited  damnation,  or.  if  it  supplies  him  with 
facilities  for.  or  impetus  to  a  higher  and  nobler  existence,  its 
advocates  ought  not  to  enter  into  a  heated  debate  with  those 
who  fancy  themselves  its  opponents,  to  convince  them  of  its 


PHILOSOPHIC  APOLOGETICS.  37 

merit  or  validity  on  the  ground  of  any  supposed  analogy  between 
it  and  something  else  in  which  we  see  more  of  ill  than  of  good. 
If  a  remedy  has  cured  a  disease  or  produced  a  good  result,  no 
argument  is  necessary  to  show  that  it  was  adapted  to  the 
case.  If  it  has  been  tried  for  eighteen  centuries  and  has  not 
cured  the  disease  nor  produced  a  good  result,  no  argument  can 
show  that  it  is  adapted  to  the  case. 

Such  light  and  beneficence,  if  any,  as  have  come  from 
Providence  to  man,  have  been  imparted  to  him  as  a  matter  of 
grace  and  condescension.  There  is  no  logic  in  the  story  of 
Jacob's  wrestle  with  the  Angel.  The  Angel  could  have  thrown 
him  every  fall,  and  if  he  intended  to  bless  him  he  could  not 
logically  have  provoked  his  evil  passions  by  tantalizing  him  to 
impatience  and  strife.  1  cannot  believe  that  Omnipotence  has 
ever  authorized,  or  will  ever  countenance  any  truckling  in  its 
behalf,  or  any  disparaging  comparisons  to  be  made  by  its  advo- 
cates. While  they  might  appropriately  urge  mankind  to  see 
their  own  interests  and  "flee  the  wrath  to  come,"  1  am  confi- 
dent that  they  usurp  the  authority  to  contend  with  impotent 
Egotism  for  the  validity  Of  Christianity  and  the  existence  of  its 
Founder.  The  most  of  such  instances  are  the  frantic  efforts  of 
a  counter  egotism  to  assert  itself  rather  than  well  advised  argu- 
ments for  divine  authority.  They  are  especially  censurable 
where,  as  in  the  volume  under  consideration,  the  analogies  and 
arguments  are  so  palpably  fallacious  as  to  tend  to  the  discredit 
of  the  system  advocated,  if  it  were  susceptible  to  injury  at 
human  hands.  If  the  cause  needs  defence  at  all,  it  is  against 
the  effects  of  the  impotent  and  incoherent  ravings  of  its  zealots. 

Among  the  last,  and  probably  the  most  sincere  expressions 
of  one  of  the  greatest  minds  of  modern  times  was  this,  "I  die 
adoring  God,  loving  my  friends,  not  hating  my  enemies,  but 
detesting  superstition."  His  life  was  a  devotion  to  human 
liberty,  personal,  intellectual,  and  moral.  When  such  a  char- 
acter is  assailed  by  the  great  galaxy  of  frenzied  fanatics,  and  the 
cause  which  he  has  not  impugned  is  defended  in  an  elaborate 
process  of  unsound  reasoning,  from  unreal  and  illegitimate 
analogy,  it  would  seem  that  the  superstition  waslhe  object  of 
deepest  solicitude,  next  after  the  name  and  fame  of  the  apologist. 


38  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE, 

Note. — In  passing  from  a  consideration  of  the  philosophy 
of  Butler's  Analogy  to  that  of  Drummond's  Natural  Law  in  the 
Spiritual  World,  the  transition  is  much  greater  in  point  of  time 
than  in  respect  of  the  subject  matter  of  the  discussion.  It  will 
be  observed  that  Bishop  Butler  argues  that  his  religion  may  be 
valid  because  it  cannot  be  demonstrated  that  the  Spiritual  exis- 
tence bears  no  resemblance  in  any  respect  to  the  Physical.  He 
labors  to  show  that  the  mind  may  suppose  an  analogy  between 
the  two  existences.  Drummond  carries  the  argument  still 
further,  even  into  assertion  that  the  Physical  is  a  working  model 
of  the  Spiritual;  and  attempts  to  avert  the  consequences  of  the 
use  of  analogy  by  intensifying  the  analogy  itself  into  identity. 
Their  arguments,  however,  as  arguments,  are  so  nearly  identi- 
cal that  their  logical  results  will  be  found  to  be  the  same.  They 
are  equally  intent  on  making  the  Spiritual  respectable  by  reason 
of  a  supposed  kinship  or  resemblance  to  the  Physical. 


CHAPTER   II. 

religion's  obsequious  homage  to  science. 

Prefatory  Apologies  for  Theological  Discussion  imply  its  Impropriety — Natural 
Law  in  Spiritual  World,  Based  on  Analogy  Between  the  Two  Spheres 
— Religion  Derives  no  New  Credential  from  Philosophy — Paul  Placed  it 
Above  Science — Kant's  Idea  of  Socratic  Method — Unfair  Methods  of  Fanat- 
ics, Requiring  Disproof — Nicodemus  Put  Upon  His  Own  Faith — Analogy 
Posits  Beginning  and  End  of  Eternity — Truculence  of  Theology  to  Science 
— Heredity  Illustrates  Absurdity  of  Analogy — Periods  and  Progress  Irrecon- 
cilable With  Eternal  Spiritual  Existence — Inanimate  Spirit-Substance  Re- 
quisite to  Analogy —  Biogenesis  Implies  Beginning  and  Ending  of  Life  of 
Almighty — Apologetics  Implies  Insufficiency  of  Divine  Authority — Spencer, 
Religion  to  Be  Such,  Must  Be  an  Absolute  Mystery — Law  of  Death — Na- 
ture Squaring  Her  Account  With  Sin — Man  and  the  Lily — Heredity  and 
Environment — Impropriety  and  Irreverence  in  Alleged  Religious  Philosophy. 

To  apologize  for  having  inflicted  upon  the  reading  world 
an  addition  to  its  multitude  of  books,  implies  a  consciousness 
that  for  some  reason  it  should  not  have  been  done.  In  most 
preludes  to  modern  ebullitions  of  genius,  such  apologies  are  so 
blended  with  aimless  eloquence  in  the  platitudes  announcing, 
or  rather  disguising  the  purpose,  that  they  are  barely  discerni- 
ble. Still,  they  are  frequently  deducible  from  the  learned  vag- 
aries and  glittering  generalities  with  which  such  prologues 
are  embellished.  There  are  few  authors  who.  bent  on  airing 
themselves  on  some  point  at  issue  between  different  schools  of 
thought,  desire  to  be  understood  as  maintaining  that  such  sub- 
ject ought  not  to  be  regarded  as  open  to  discussion,  especially 
when  introducing  to  the  reader  an  elaborate  work  in  support 
of  a  party  to  the  controversy.  To  do  so  is  to  condemn  the 
purpose  of  the  work.  Such  self-imposed  and  merited  condem- 
nation is  not  obviated  by  a  mere  change  in  name  of  the  under- 
taking, from  that  of  others  which  may  have  disappointed  the 
hopes  of  the  zealous. 

To  attempt  to  maintain  the  validity  of  any  religious  system, 
by  improvising  and  discussing  such  a  subject  as  Natural  Law 
In  The  Spiritual  World,  is  an  attempt  to  maintain  such  validity 
on  the  ground  of  a  supposed  analogy  between  the  two  spheres. 


40  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

The  remark  in  a  preface  to  such  an  undertaking  that  Science 
and  Religion  never  should  have  been  contrasted,  and  that  "the 
critics  have  rightly  discovered  that,  in  most  cases  where 
Science  is  either  pitted  against  Religion  or  fused  with  it,  there 
is  some  fatal  misconception  to  begin  with  as  to  the  scope  and 
province  of  either, '"  is  a  reflection  upon  the  apologist's  prede- 
cessors in  that  field.  At  the  same  time  it  places  his  own  un- 
dertaking at  a  disadvantage  not  to  be  obviated  by  merely  claim- 
ing "that  the  fact  of  the  subject  matter  being  law, — places 
it  on  a  somewhat  different  footing." 

To  attempt  to  "identify  the  natural  laws,  or  any  of  them  in 
the  Spiritual  Sphere,"  is  to  insist  upon  an  analogy  between  the 
two  spheres.  Natural  Laws  are  the  manifestation  of  the  con- 
stitution and  course  of  nature,  or  thev  are  nothing.  To  main- 
tain that  "the  laws  of  nature  are  simply  statements  of  the  order- 
ly condition  of  things  in  nature,  what  is  found  in  nature  by  a 
sufficient  number  o{ competent  observers,"  implies  a  purpose  to 
argue  the  supposed  analogy.  To  follow  such  declaration  with 
the  assertion  that,  "What  these  laws  are  in  themselves  is  not 
agreed,  that  they  have  any  absolute  existence  even  is  far  from 
certain,"  reflects  somewhat  unfavorably  upon  the  competency 
of  the  observers  who  are  said  to  have  discovered  them.  Such 
self-inflicted  blows  are  not  to  be  parried  after  they  are  received, 
nor  is  their  effect  to  be  meliorated  by  any  process  of  irrelevant 
abstraction,  nor  by  comparison  with  such  distinctions  as  are 
supposed  to  obtain  between  latitude  and  its  parallels,  and  grav- 
ity and  gravitation.  Having  made  natural  law  appear  as  un- 
substantial as  words  can  express,  and  having  almost  denied  its 
existence,  the  apologist  says,  "if  the  analogies  of  natural  law 
can  be  extended  to  the  Spiritual  World,  that  whole  region  at 
once  falls  within  the  domain  of  Science  and  secures  a  basis  as 
well  as  an  illumination  in  the  constitution  and  course  of  nature." 
He  proposes  to  authenticate  what  the  Almighty  has  left  in 
doubt,  and  to  illumine  what  He  has  left  obscure,  by  tracing  in 
the  Spiritual  Sphere  the  laws  whose  "existence  even  is  far  from 
certain." 

There  is  but  little  logic  in  the  attempt  to  remove  one  doubt 
by  the  expression  of  another,  or  in  attempting  to  trace  a  sys- 


religion's  obsequious  homage  to  science.  41 

tern  of  laws  whose  very  "existence  is  far  from  certain,"  into  a 
Sphere  concerning  which  nothing  definite  can  be  imagined. 
The  assertion  that  '7/ the  analogies  of  natural  law  can  be  ex- 
tended to  the  Spiritual  World,  that  whole  region  at  once  falls 
within  the  domain  of  Science,"  is  the  statement  of  a  monstrous 
//.  and  involves  the  reduction  of  the  absolute  to  the  relative.  It 
also  involves  the  proposition  to  construct  a  science  of  law,  for 
a  System  which  cannot  be  conceived  of  as  subject  to  any  law 
of  which  the  mind  can  conceive.  The  words  Spiritual  World 
mean  the  intniite  spiritual  existence  of  the  beings  who  migrate 
from  the  natural  world  to  and  inhabit  it.  To  be  infinite  it  can 
have  neither  beginning  nor  ending.  To  have  either  it  must 
have  both;  it  must  be  subject  to  vicissitude  and  time,  and  be 
finite.  If  Spiritual  does  not  imply  eternal,  it  cannot  imply  or  be 
more  than  physical ;  nor  different  from  physical,  unless  it  be 
attribute  or  condition  of  physical.  If  it  is  infinite  it  must  be 
absolute,  and  cannot  be  relative.  If  it  is  absolute  it  cannot  be 
conceived  of  as  subject  to  any  law  of  which  the  mind  can  con- 
ceive. In  its  utmost  the  mind  can  only  conceive  of  things  as 
relative.  It  can  no  more  conceive  of  the  infinite  and  absolute 
as  subject  to  any  law  of  which  it  can  conceive,  than  it  can  con- 
ceive of  a  limit  beyond  which  space  cannot  extend,  or  a  time 
beyond  which  eternity  cannot  endure. 

The  assertions  that  if  natural  law  can  be  traced  in  the 
Spiritual  World  it  would  offer  Religion  a  new  credential,  and 
that  the  effect  of  the  introduction  of  law  among  the  scattered 
phenomena  of  nature  has  simply  been  to  make  science,  to  trans- 
form knowledge  inta  eternal  truth,  and  that  the  same  crystaliz- 
ing  touch  is  needed  in  religion,  stigmatize  religion  in  a  manner 
and  to  a  degree  which  is  not  divinely  authorized.  To  argue 
that  the  phenomena  of  the  Spiritual  World  are  scattered,  from 
the  fact  that  the  religious  opinions  of  mankind  are  in  a  state  of 
flux,  to  assert  that  the  one  thing  thinking  men  are  waiting  for 
is  the  introduction  of  law  among  the  phenomena  of  the  Spiritual 
world,  and  that  on  their  part  this  is  a  reasonable  demand,  are  only 
equalled  in  truculence  by  the  proposition  to  offer  such  men  a 
truly  scientific  theology.  "Because  Thou  hast  hid  these  things 
from   the    wise   and    prudent,  and    hast   revealed   them    unto 


42  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

babes,""  thinking  men  may  wait  too  long  if  they  will  have  none 
but  a  truly  scientific  theology.  The  wayfaring  man  if  he  were 
a  fool  might  err  in  the  truly  scientific  theology,  as  egregiously 
as  the  apologist,  who.  determined  not  to  be  out-done  by  Christ 
in  the  reconciliation  of  God  to  him.  now  proposes  to  reconcile 
Science  to  Christ,  or  at  least  to  propitiate  it  in  his  favor.  Christ 
may  regard  it  a  complimentary  exhibition  of  the  spirit  of  reci- 
procity, or  possibly  a  favor,  to  be  tendered  a  proposition  to 
swap  zior/{  on  terms  involving  an  engagement  to  offer  think- 
ing men  a  truly  scientific  theologv.  But  Paul  would  seem  to 
have  misconceived  his  mission  when  he  said  he  was  sent  to 
preach  the  gospel ;  not  with  wisdom  of  words,  lest  the  cross  of 
Christ  be  made  of  none  effect. 

it  was  never  at  Paul's  instance  that  Religion  fawned  at  the 
feet  of  Philosophv.  or  sought  a  new  credential  in  any  supposed 
analogy  to  nature,  or  courted  a  comparison  with  the  things  of 
this  world.  He  said,  "we  speak  the  wisdom  of  God  in  a 
mystery,  even  the  hidden  wisdom  which  God  ordained  l^efore 
the  world  unto  our  glory.  *  *  *  Which  things  also  we  speak, 
not  in  the  words  which  man"s  wisdom  teacheth.  but  which  the 
Holy  Ghost  teacheth,  comparing  spiritual  things  with  spiritual."" 
When  the  pupil  of  Gamaliel  was  called,  and  found  the  faith 
ridiculed  by  the  prevailing  wisdom,  he  made  no  attempt  to 
give  it  a  new  credential  by  tracing  natural  law  in  the  Spiritual 
World.  It  might  have  been  difficult  to  find  in  nature  an  anal- 
ogy to  the  incarnation,  the  cross,  the  transfiguration,  or  the 
ascension,  if  Science  is  more  important  to  Christianity  than 
these,  it  is  still  a  radical  religious  reform  that  goes  from  the 
justification  of  man  by  faith  to  the  justification  of  God  by 
analogy. 

The  analogy  is  alternately  argued  and  assumed  throughout 
the  course  of  the  treatise.  The  herculean  efforts  to  disguise  or 
mask  the  purpose  to  urge  it  in  the  usual  vein  of  apologetics, 
under  layers  of  learning  relating  to 'several  of  the  subjects  of 
natural  law,  and  by  tracing  such  law  in  the  Spiritual  World  on 
the  authority  of  discoveries  made  in  chemical  and  microscopical 
analysis  in  modern  Biology,  fail  as  signally  as  the  effort  to 
establish  the  divine  authority  of  the  Creator,  on  the  empirical 


religion's  obsequious  homage  to  science.  43 

knowledge  of  the  creature.  All  the  prefatory  disavowals  of 
such  purpose  that  can  be  written,  together  with  all  the  nom  de 
plumes  by  which  such  work  can  be  called,  cannot,  in  the  light 
of  the  foregoing  extracts,  and  the  frequent  comparisons  in  the 
body  of  the  work,  successfully  conceal  its  real  purpose.  In  one 
place  the  apologist  says,  "the  position  we  have  been  led  to 
take  up,  is  not  that  the  Spiritual  laws  are  analogous  to  the 
natural  laws,  but  that  they  are  the  same  laws.  It  is  not  a 
question  of  analogy  but  of  identity — Analogous  phenom- 
ena are  not  the  fruit  of  parallel  laws,  but  of  the  same  laws — 
laws  which  at  one  end,  as  it  were,  may  be  dealing  with  matter, 
at  the  other  end  with  spirit."  Then  after  a  great  deal  of  cir- 
cumlocution and  artistic  evasion,  the  apologist  seems  to  have 
wearied  with  the  effort  to  get  rid  of  the  odium  which  he  seems 
to  think  attaches  to  that  which  properly  should  have  been  the 
title  of  his  book,  and  says,  "as  there  will  be  some  inconven- 
ience, however,  in  dispensing  with  the  word  analogy,  we  shall 
continue  occasionally  to  use  it." 

The  proposition  that  the  same  laws  deal  at  one  end  with 
matter  and  at  the  other  end  with  Spirit,  is  exceedingly  vision- 
ary. If  they  are  the  same  laws  they  must  have  the  same  or 
similar  effects.  But  we  are  not  told  what  species  of  Spirit  it  is 
which,  according  to  natural  law,  preys  upon  and  devours 
another  species.  Nor  are  we  told  that  the  apologist  selects  and 
extends  only  certain  ones  of  the  natural  laws  into  the  Spiritual 
World.  Nor,  if  he  does  so,  by  what  standard  he  makes  the 
selection.  If  analogous  phenomena  are  necessarily  the  fruit  of 
the  same  laws,  the  same  laws  necessarily  produce  analogous 
phenomena.  This  involves  eternally  recurring  procreations, 
births,  growths,  diseases,  deaths,  decays,  and  additional  and 
eternally  recurring  future  Spiritual  Worlds.  It  is  by  a  law  of 
nature  that  man  is  begotten  and  born,  grows  for  a  time,  halts 
a  while,  and  finally  dies.  If  that  natural  law  extends  into  the 
Spiritual  World  and  produces  analogous  phenomena,  it  would 
be  interesting  to  conjecture  the  number  of  ghostlets  which  the 
spirit  departing  from  the  body  here  will  beget  there,  before  it 
yields  up  its  more  attenuated  evanescence  to  another  and  more 
unsubstantial  Spiritual  World.     If  we  attempt  to  trace  natural 


44  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

law  in  the  Spiritual  World  on  scientific  biological  principles,  so 
as  to  be  prepared  to  offer  thinking  men  a  truly  scientitlc  theo- 
logy, we  must  take  it  with  its  indispensable  concomitants  and 
consequences,  its  births,  growths,  diseases,  deaths,  decavs.  and 
successive  existences.  Future  existence  must  be  a  fruit  of 
natural  law.  if  such  law  deals  at  one  end  with  matter  and  at 
the  other  end  with  spirit,  it  must  have  its  analogy  in  the 
future  or  spiritual  world,  in  still  further  existences,  if  it  is  not 
a  fruit  of  natural  law,  such  law  does  not  extend  into  the  Spirit- 
ual World. 

The  apologist  says,  "Science  deals  with  known  facts;  and 
accepting  certain  known  facts  in  the  Spiritual  World  we  pro- 
ceed to  arrange  them,  to  discover  their  laws,  to  inquire  if  they 
can  be  stated  in  the  terms  of  the  rest  of  our  knowledge."  But 
he  names  no  known  fact  in  the  Spiritual  World  which  is  so  ac- 
cepted, or  which  as  a  phenomenon  is  the  fruit  of  natural  law  in 
the  Spiritual  World,  nor  does  he  state  how  any  such  fact  could 
be  known.  He  had  just  stated  that  it  is  not  agreed  what 
natural  laws  are,  and  that  it  is  far  from  certain  that  they  exist. 
But  he  seems  to  be  proof  against  discomfiture.  He  boldly  de- 
clares that  "Nature  is  not  a  mere  image  or  emblem  of  the 
Spiritual.  In  the  Spiritual  World  the  same  wheels  revolve — 
but  without  the  iron.  The  same  figures  flit  across  the  stage, 
the  same  processes  of  growth  go  on,  the  same  functions  are  dis- 
charged, the  same  Biological  laws  prevail — only  with  a  different 
quality  of  Bios."  And  again  that  "Biogenesis  is  the  law  for  all 
life,  and  for  all  kinds  of  life,  and  the  particular  substance  with 
which  it  is  associated  is  as  different  to  Biogenesis  as  it  is  to 
gravitation.  *  *  *  The  conclusion  finally  is,  that  from  the 
nature  of  law  in  general,  and  from  the  scope  of  the  principle  of 
continuity  in  particular,  the  laws  of  the  natural  life  must  be  those 
of  the  spiritual  life." 

If  the  work  in  question  has  a  foundation,  this  is  its  chief 
corner  stone.  Whatever  is  said  herein  against  the  validity  of 
the  argument,  is  said  upon  the  hvpothesis  that  the  apologist 
meant  to  maintain  these  propositions.  That  the  same  figures 
flit  across  the  stage  in  the  Spiritual  as  in  the  physical  sphere, 
implies    that  no  others  do,  and   that  those  leave  that  stage. 


RELIGION  S    OBSEQL'IOL'S    HOMAGE    TO   SCIENCE.  45 

That  the  same  processes  ot  growth  go  on  implies  the  same  or 
similar  causes  for  the  growth,  the  same  or  similar  beginning, 
duration,  results,  and  termination  of  it.  Accordingly  a  twenty- 
one  year  old  spirit  would  be  full  grown,  because  by  virtue  of 
the  natural  law  which  extends  into  the  Spiritual  World  it  could 
not  grow  any  more.  It  might  become  more  corpulent,  but  it 
would  not  grow  taller.  Should  it  escape  contagion,  and  not 
catch  cold  or  be  crossed  in  love,  it  might  live  to  a  green  old 
age,  and  dandle  its  grandchildren  on  its  knees  in  the  late  even- 
ing of  a  well  spent  spiritual  life.  That  the  natural  is  a  working 
model  of  the  Spiritual  World,  implies  that  the  workings  of  the 
one  are  duplicated,  or  that  analogous  ones  are  done  in  the  other. 
That  the  same  functions  are  discharged,  the  same  biological 
laws  prevail,  implies  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  Sphere  Spiritual 
beget,  multiply,  grow,  die.  decay,  and  yield  up  other  and  still 
more  vapory  evanescences  of  themselves,  to  other  and  still  more 
ethereal  Spiritual  Worlds.  Bv  no  other  means  could  the  same 
functions  be  discharged,  and  the  same  biological  laws  prevail. 
And  when  the  same  figures  flit  across  the  stage,  they  may  leave 
it  for  some  other  stage,  or  they  mav  merely  retire  to  the  green- 
room. 

Now  if  the  doctrine  is  apparent,  it  may  be  interesting  to 
know  the  occasion  of  the  great  undertaking,  to  inquire  if  it 
justifies  the  tugging  of  the  Old  Ship  of  Zion  in  the  wake  of  the 
dredge-boat  of  Science.  The  apologist  says,  "What  then  has 
Science  done  to  make  Theologv  tremble  ?  It  is  its  method. 
It  is  its  system.  It  is  its  reign  of  law.  It  is  its  harmony  and 
continuitv.  The  attack  is  not  specific.  No  one  point  is  assail- 
ed. It  is  the  whole  system  which  when  compared  with  the 
other  and  weighed  in  /ts  balance  is  found  wanting.  An  eve 
which  has  looked  upon  the  first  cannot  look  upon  this.  To  do 
that  and  rest  in  the  contemplation,  it  has  first  to  uncentury 
itself 

So  Science  is  leaving  the  Lord  in  the  lurch.  In  their  rivalry 
for  the  favor  and  approval  of  man  science  is  too  much  for  Re- 
ligion. For  Religion  to  have  a  shadow  of  hope,  the  doctrine  of 
Christ  and  his  Apostles  must  be  remodeled.  St.  Paul's  methods 
must  be  abandoned,  and  religion  must  be  taught  "in  terms  of 


46  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

the  rest  of  our  knowledge,"  even  if  the  cross  of  Christ  be  made 
of  none  effect.  Religion  must  be  made  a  truly  scientific  theol- 
ogy, for  v/hich  purpose  knoivn  facts  in  the  Spiritual  World 
must  be  learnedly  surmised,  stated  in  the  terms  of  the  rest  of 
our  knowledge,  and  shown  to  be  analogous  to  facts  which 
science  denominates  the  fruit  of  natural  law,  which,  forsooth, 
at  one  end  operates  on  matter,  and  at  the  other  end  on  spirit. 

But  a  difficulty  appears.  We  are  not  told  who  it  is  that  has 
authorized  the  weighing  of  Christ's  religion  in  the  balance  of 
Science.  We  think  that  this  religion  has  wrought  the  greatest 
civilization,  intellectual  attainment,  and  best  system  of  morals 
ever  known.  It  is  in  the  balance  of  Science  that  the  apologist 
says  it  is  weighed  when  it  is  found  wanting.  Had  he  given 
the  authority  for  its  submission  to  such  test,  and  if  it  were  suffi- 
cient, his  argument  might  have  been  more  cogent.  If  on  the 
other  hand  there  is  no  authority  therefor,  his  argument  is  not 
only  gratuitous  supererogation, — it  is  an  impiously  arrogant 
affectation  of  familiarity  with  the  Almighty,  an  egotistical 
assumption  of  authoritv,  and  a  childish  display  of  wordy  wis- 
dom, which  lacks  little  of  blasphemy.  I  find  no  author  to 
whom  the  apologist  refers  with  more  frequency  and  apparent 
approval  than  St.  Paul,  who,  as  above  shown  must  have  been 
in  error  if  the  apologist  is  right.  This  leaves  nothing  to  be  said 
on  that  part  of  the  subject,  further  than  to  recall  attention  to  the 
foregoing  extracts  from  the  Epistles.  The  c]uestion  thus  resolves 
itself  into  one  of  authority  between  the  Apostle  and  the  apolo- 
gist. 

The  greatest  modern  metaphysician,  speaking  of  his  favorite 
science  has  said,  "it  will  confer  an  inestimable  benefit  on  mor- 
ality and  religion  by  showing  that  all  objections  urged  against 
them,  may  be  silenced  forever  by  the  Socratic  method,  that  is 
to  say,  by  proving  the  ignorance  of  the  objector."  But  egotis- 
tic zeal  is  seldom  satisfied  until  it  proves  its  own  ignorance. 
In  the  case  under  consideration  this  is  proved  by  the  apologisfs 
alarm  for  religion  at  the  method,  the  system,  the  reign  of  law, 
the  harmony  and  continuity  of  Science.  The  proof  is  strength- 
ened in  his  effort  to  trace  these  characteristics  in  the  Spiritual 
World.     Having  painted  a  vivid  verbal  picture  of  a  world  of 


religion's  obseql'Ious  homage  to  science.  47 

chance  the  apologist  says,  "Now  this  is  no  more  than  a  real 
picture  of  what  the  world  would  be  without  law,  or  the  uni- 
verse without  continuity.  *  *  *  As  the  Natural  Laws  are 
continuous  throughout  the  universe  of  matter  and  space,  so  will 
they  be  continuous  throughout  the  universe  of  spirit.  *  *  * 
Those  who  denv  it  must  furnish  the  disproof."  This  supposes 
a  strange  rule  of  evidence,  one  that  no  person  on  trial  for  his 
life  would  wish  to  see  signalized  for  its  continuity.  Litigants 
are  required  to  furnish  the  proof,  but  never  in  the  first  instance, 
the  disproof.  \v\\a\v^  a  prima  facie  case  must  be  first  made, 
and  it  is  never  made  by  disproof.  Had  the  apologist  shown  an 
analogy  between  the  physical  and  Spiritual  Worlds  sufficient  to 
raise  the  presumption  that  the  natural  law  of  the  former  prevails 
throughout  the  latter,  he  might  with  more  propriety  have  called 
for  the  disproof.  But  both  spheres  must  be  known  in  order  to 
know  that  there  is  any  analogy  between  them.  It  would  be 
ridiculous  in  any  one  to  claim  to  know  even  the  physical  sphere. 
If  either  of  the  spheres  is  unknown  no  analogy  between  them 
can  be  shown.  Until  such  analogy  is  shown  there  is  not  even 
a  suspicion  to  be  removed  by  either  proof  or  disproof 

He  says  his  •'argument  is  based  upon  a  principle  which  is 
now  acknowledged  to  be  universal. "'  But  if  the  principle  is 
not  universally  so  acknowledged,  or  invulnerably  established, 
it  may  be  more  in  the  nature  of  an  assumption  than  a  principle. 
One  may  as  well  assume  the  whole  matter  in  controversy,  as 
10  assume  the  basis  of  his  argument.  The  principle  of  continu- 
ity in  natural  law  throughout  the  physical  sphere  may  be  uni- 
versally acknowledged  to  be  universal,  but  to  show  that  it  pre- 
vails in  the  Spiritual  Sphere  by  reason  of  such  laws  extending 
to  the  Spiritual  Sphere,  a  knowledge  of  that  sphere  and  an 
analogy  between  it  and  the  physical  sphere  are  requisite.  If 
continuity  of  such  law  remains  continuous  the  individual  exis- 
tences will  be  as  nearlv  analogously  duplicated  in  all  respects, 
as  the  spiritual,  wliich  is  supposed  to  be  omnipotent,  is  capable 
of  duplicating  the  physical.  Those  who  in  this  world  die  the 
youngest,  will  there  flit  across  the  stage  the  quickest.  This  is 
natural  law  here,  and  continuity,  to  be  continuous,  must  con- 
tinue it  the  same  way  or  analogously  there.     St.  Paul   was  not 


48  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

aware  of  this  principle  of  continuity  when  he  thought  he  was 
declaring  to  the  Corinthians  a  mystery;  that  "we  shall  all  be 
changed,  in  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last 
trump." 

Insisting  that  the  eiui  of  natural  law  which  deals  with  spirit 
is  not  supplemented  by  purely  spiritual  laws,  the  apologist  says, 
"But  if  the  objection  is  pressed  that  it  is  contrary  to  the  anal- 
ogy, and  unreasonable  in  itself,  that  there  should  not  be  new 
laws  for  this  higher  sphere,  the  reply  is  obvious.  Let  these 
laws  be  produced.  If  the  spiritual  nature,  in  inception,  growth, 
and  development,  does  not  follow  natural  principles,  let  the 
true  principles  be  stated  and  explained."  This  might  be  dffi- 
cult  to  do,  but  if  the  spiritual  nature  does  follow  natural  princi- 
ples in  inception,  growth,  and  development,  it  must,  under  the 
principle  of  continuity,  also  follow  them  in  decline,  disease, 
death,  decay,  and  the  yielding  up  of  another  and  correspond- 
ingly more  spiritiielle  spirit,  to  another  and  correspondingly 
more  ethereal  spiritual  world.  Modesty  may  decline  the  chal- 
lenge to  produce  the  purely  spiritual  laws  with  which  the 
spiritual  end  of  the  natural  laws  are  supplemented  in  the  Spirit- 
ual World.  But  it  may  with  as  much  propriety  offer  to  pro- 
duce them,  as  to  reason  that  they  extend  there,  when  their 
very  existence  "is  far  from  certain. 

When  Nicodemus  had  his  memorable  interview  with  the 
Son  he  was  put  upon  his  own  responsibility  and  faith,  and 
there  is  no  authentic  precedent  for  anything  like  a  solution  of 
the  apologist's  problem.  He  was  told  that  "the  wind  bloweth 
where  it  listeth.  and  thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof  but  canst 
not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  and  whither  it  goeth ;  so  is  every  one 
that  is  born  of  the  spirit. ""  St.  Paul  said  "And  my  speech  and 
my  preaching  was  not  with  enticing  v/ords  of  man's  wisdom, 
but  in  demonstration  of  the  spirit  and  of  power,  that  your  faith 
should  not  stand  in  the  wisdom  of  man,  but  in  the  power  of 
God.  '^'  *  *  even  so  the  things  of  God  knoweth  no  man,  but 
the  spirit  of  God."  But  the  "wisdom  of  God  in  a  mystery" 
had  not  then  been  tested  on  principles  of  reversion  to  Type, 
nor  had  it  been  subjected  to  chemical  and  microscopical  tests. 
The  ignorance  or  reserve  of  Christ  and  St.   Paul  was  com  pen- 


religion's  obsequious  homage  to  science.  49 

sated  for  by  miracle. — it  is  now  proposed  to  give  them  a  new 
credential  in  the  results  of  recent  research  in  the  domain  of 
Biology. 

Arguing  the  principle  of  continuity  the  apologist  says,  "With 
the  gradual  aggregation  of  mass  the  energy  of  the  universe  has 
been  slowly  disappearing,  and  this  loss  of  energy  must  go  on 
until  none  remains.  There  is,  therefore,  a  point  in  time  when 
the  energy  of  the  universe  must  come  to  an  end;  and  that 
which  has  its  end  in  time  cannot  be  infinite,  it  must  also  have 
had  a  beginning  in  time."  If  we  trace  this  natural  law  from 
the  end  which  deals  with  matter  to  the  end  which  deals  with 
spirit,  the  beginning  and  end  of  Eternity  are  unequivocally 
posited.  If  nature  is  a  working  model  of  the  spiritual  it  must 
of  course  work  in  like  manner  with  the  spiritual,  and  the  spirit- 
ual has  had  a  beginning,  and  is  destined  to  lose  all  its  energy 
and  come  to  an  end.  In  other  words,  eternity  is  not  eternal. 
If,  as  the  apologist  says,  "the  origin  in  time  of  the  visible  uni- 
verse is  implied  from  known  facts  with  regard  to  the  dissipa- 
tion of  energy;"  if  there  is  a  point  in  time  when  the  universe 
must  come  to  an  end;  and  if  all  this  is  the  necessary  result  of 
natural  law,  one  end  of  which  deals  with  spirit;  and  if  the 
natural  is  a  working  model  of  the  spiritual,  and  hence 
works  in  the  same  manner.  Eternity  must  have  begun  in  time, 
and  must  come  to  an  end  in  time.  Perhaps  the  Lord  may 
then  be  brought  in  line  with  science. 

The  apologist  says  that  "for  two  hundred  years  the  scien- 
tific world  has  been  rent  with  discussion  upon  the  origin  of 
life;"  that  one  school  maintains  that  it  is  spontaneously  gener- 
ated from  matter,  the  other  that  it  must  come  from  pre-exis- 
tent  life;  and  that  "it  is  now  recognized  on  every  hand  that 
life  can  only  come  from  the  touch  of  life."  And  further  that 
"for  more  than  two  hundred  years  a  similar  discussion  has 
dragged  its  length  through  the  religious  world.  Two  great 
schools  have  also  defended  exactly  opposite  views — one  that 
the  spiritual  life  in  man  can  come  only  from  pre-existent  life, 
the  other  that  it  can  spontaneously  generate  itself."  The 
doctrine  of  Biogenesis  having  triumphed  over  that  of  spontan- 
eous generation  in  the  physical  sphere,'  the  apologist  proposes 


so  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

to  trail  Elijah's  chariot  of  fire  at  the  tail  gate  of  the  Ox-wain  of 
science,  and  give  religion  a  new  credential  by  bringing  the 
Lord  in  line  with  the  punctilious  intelligence  of  His  creatures, 
which  seems  now  to  have  discovered  a  parallel  for  His  wis- 
dom, and  to  have  solved  His  mystery  by  certain  manipulations 
of  matter  in  an  hermetically  sealed  tube.  The  effort  to  solve 
this  question,  as  it  is  supposed  to  relate  to  spiritual  life,  im- 
plies that  it  is  important;  to  insist  on  its  solution  in  accord 
with  the  doctrines  of  physical  Biogenesis,  is  to  insist  on  an 
analogy  between  the  physical  and  spiritual  spheres.  And 
both  are  degrading  to  and  unworthy  the  cause.  They  involve 
many  manifest  absurdities,  one  of  which  occurs  in  considering 
the  subject  with  relation  to  heredity.  Heredity  is  unquestion- 
ably a  natural  law.  If  one  end  of  it  extends  into  the  spiritual 
sphere,  the  apologist  ought  to  inform  us  what  particular  breed 
of  spirits  it  is,  from  which  the  stiff-necked  spirit  of  man  inher- 
its its  obstancy.  Unless  man  is  endowed  with  a  spirit  which 
is  inclined  to  evil,  there  can  be  no  occasion  for  any  religion. 
If  man  is  endowed  with  a  spirit  so  inclined,  and  if  the  natural 
law  of  Biogenesis  operates  at  one  end  on  spirit,  then  the  per- 
verse spirit  of  man  must  inherit  its  evil  propensities  from  the 
Celestial  progenitor  who  dallies  with  the  matron  spirHiielle  at 
the  time  of  the  inception  of  the  spiritual  nature.  He  says  this 
inception,  together  with  the  growth  and  development  of  the 
spiritual  nature,  follows  natural  principles.  One  of  the  apolo- 
gist's fovorite  authors,  from  whom  he  quotes  with  great  confi- 
dence has  said,  "Understood  in  its  entirety,  the  law  is,  that 
each  plant  or  animal  produces  others  of  like  kind  with  itself 
*  *  *  The  circumstance  that  the  tendency  to  repetition  is,  in 
a  slight  degree  qualified  by  the  tendency  to  variation  (which 
as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  is  but  an  indirect  result  of  the  ten- 
dency to  repetition)  leads  some  to  doubt  whether  heredity  is 
unlimited.  A  careful  weighing  of  the  evidence,  however,  and 
a  due  allowance  for  the  influences  by  which  the  minuter  mani- 
festations of  heredity  are  obscured  will  remove  the  grounds  for 
this  skepticism."  If  the  apologist  should  trace  this  law,  as  to 
which  there  is  said  to  be  no  ground  for  skepticism,  from  the 
end  which  deals  with  matter  to  the  end  which  deals  with 


religion's    OBSEaUIOUS    HOMAGE    TO    SCIENCE.  5 1 

spirit,  and  then  identify  the  begetters  of  the  great  generation 
of  vipers,  he  would  give  his  argument  a  new  credential,  equal 
to  that  which  he  proposes  for  religion. 

Without  specifically  defining  the  danger  of  the  heresy  the 
apologist  says.  "If  the  doctrine  of  spontaneous  generation  of 
spiritual  life  can  be  met  on  scientific  grounds,  it  will  mean  the 
removal  of  the  most  serious  enemy  Christianity  has  to  deal 
with,  and  especially  within  its  own  border,  at  the  present  day," 
In  view  of  the  manner  in  which  he  proceeds  to  overthrow  the 
heresy,  and  the  sentiment  manifest  in  the  above  extracts  from 
his  work,  it  is  apparent  that  he  regards  the  doctrine  of  spon- 
taneous spiritual  generation  deleterious  to  Christianity,  because 
it  is  not  parallel  with  the  doctrine  of  generation  of  physical  life. 
He  does  not  show  what  difference  it  could  make,  which  of  the 
two  doctrines,  or,  whether  either  of  them  prevails.  If  the 
Founder  of  Christianity  changed  water  into  wine  in  an  open 
vessel,  it  could  be  of  no  consequence  to  his  religion  what  were 
the  results  of  Bastian's  and  Huxley's  experiments  with  hay  in- 
fusions in  hermetically  sealed  tubes.  If  the  One  called  back 
from  the  grave  in  Bethany  the  corpse  that  had  been  buried 
four  days,  it  would  matter  little  to  his  religion  whether  we 
might  or  might  not  reasonably  "expect  a  hay  infusion  to  be- 
come gradually  more  and  more  living  until  in  the  course  of  the 
process  it  reached  vitality."  If  modern  investigators  should 
claim  for  their  discoveries  a  spiritual  significance,  and  enforce 
the  claim  by  the  performance  of  such  miracles  as  rising  from 
the  tomb,  restoring  sight,  life,  and  health  in  others,  and  then 
going  bodily  to  Glory,  it  might  become  important  to  harmon- 
ize the  Christian  religion  with  the  doctrines  deducible  -from 
their  experiments.  But  the  doctrines  of  the  Apostles,  especial- 
ly St.  Paul,  would  have  to  be  abandoned,  as  too  primitive  for 
the  progressive  and  scientific  theology. 

The  idea  of  progress  is  itself  destructive  of  the  validity  of 
any  claim  for  analogy  between  the  spiritual  and  physical 
spheres.  Progress  implies  advancement  from  rudeness  toward 
refinement.  It  is  practicable  to  think  this  of  physical  phenom- 
ena in  a  physical  sphere  which  begins  and  ends ;  but  it  is  im- 
practicable to   think   it   of  spiritual   phenomena  in  a  spiritual 


52  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

sphere  which  neither  begins  nor  ends.  The  germs  in  the  hay  in- 
fusion may  show  signs  of  life,  and  finally  develope  life.  But 
they  soon  die  and  decompose,  thereby  perhaps  generating  suc- 
cessive germs  to  repeat  the  manifestation,  and  possibly  attain 
to  a  higher  organization  and  degree  or  iile.  Man  progresses 
through  various  stages,  from  an  embryo  in  the  womb,  to  a 
foul  mass  of  corruption  in  the  tomb.  Life  and  manners  have 
progressed  from  a  naked  barbarism  in  the  cave  to  an  adorned 
civilization  in  the  mansion.  These  are  phvsical  phenomena  in 
time,  traceable  from  their  causes  to  their  effects  in  time.  The 
mind  cannot  conceive  of  parallel  or  analogous  phenomena  in 
spiritual  existence  in  eternitv.  produced  bv  parallel  or  analog- 
ous causes,  beginning  at  some  point  or  period  in  eternity, 
operating  analogously  for  a  while  until  a  certain  stage  of  pro- 
gress is  reached  and  then  ending.  It  cannot  think  such  thing 
as  a  point,  or  period,  or  sVdg-e  of  progress  in  eternitv.  Inter- 
mediate points,  periods,  and  stages  of  progress  imply  begin- 
ning, and  ending,  and  final  results.  And  nothing  in  the  eter- 
nal sphere  can  be  thought  as  beginning,  being,  and  ending  in 
a  manner  analogous  to  any  thing  in  the  temporal  sphere. 

Analogy,  to  be  analogous,  should  harmonize  and  find  its 
counterparts  or  parallels  in  all  supposable  conditions.  To  in- 
sist on  the  principle  of  continuity  for  any  purpose,  is  to  avow 
the  necessitv  of  continuity  in  the  alleged  analogy.  If  the  con- 
tinuity of  the  alleged  analogy  is  once  broken,  there  is  no  more 
of  an  analogy  than  if  there  had  never  been  even  a  coincidence 
or  resemblance  among  the  data  of  the  two  systems  or  states 
being  compared.  It  is  now  claimed  that  all  physical  motion, 
including  all  life,  vegetal  as  well  as  animal,  is  the  result  of 
the  persistence  of  force  which  is  very  learnedly  traced  back 
through  the  phvsical  processes  and  phenomena  in  which  it 
manifests  itself  to  the  radiation  of  light  and  heat  from  the  sun. 
If  this  is  correct  the  sun  is  the  generator  or  creator  of  all  physi- 
cal life.  One  of  the  apologist's  favorite  authors,  in  a  chapter 
entitled  the  transformation  and  equivalence  of  forces  has  pre- 
sented this  doctrine  very  forciblv.  But  in  generating  physical 
life,  the  intluences  of  the  sun  must  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
inanimate  physical  substance.     It  is  impossible  to  imagine  a 


religion's  obsequious  homage  to  science.  5^ 

not-living  spiritual  substance  to  be  animated  by  the  Giver, 
Generator,  or  Creator  of  all  spiritual  life.  So  there  is  no  anal- 
ogy here.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  the  Giver,  Gener- 
ator or  Creator  of  all  spiritual  life  is  constantly  losing  his 
energv  so  as  to  imply  that  there  is  a  point  in  eternity  at  which 
all  spiritual  life  must  cease.  So  there  is  no  analogy  here.  The 
apologist  savs  there  is  '"a  point  in  time  when  the  energy  of  the 
universe  must  come  to  an  end,"  and  he  very  positively  declares 
the  natural  law  by  virtue  of  which  he  says  it  must  come  to  an 
end.  He  also  insists  on  the  continuity  of  natural  law  in  the 
spiritual  sphere.  If  he  succeeds  in  establishing  the  supposed 
analogv  between  the  two  spheres,  and  in  tracing  natural  law 
into  the  spiritual  sphere,  and  in  establishing  the  principle  of 
continuity  there,  he  necessarily  terminates  eternity. 

Science  is  supposed  to  demonstrate  that  there  is  neither  in- 
crease nor  diminution  of  matter,  and  that  the  processes  which 
appear  to  be  such  are  integration  and  diffusion.  The  continu- 
ous tangible  existence  of  the  bulk  of  all  matter  composing  the 
bodies  of  all  animal  and  vegetal  existences  that  have  been  in 
time,  would  have  materiallv  enlarged  the  mass  of  tangible  mat- 
ter. If  all  the  bodies  that  have  apparently  grown  from  germs 
(which  were  next  to  nothing)  were  actual  additions  to  the 
volume  of  matter,  the  mass  would  now  be  many  times  larger 
than  it  is,  and  every  cycle  would  perceptibly  increase  its  vol- 
ume. The  mind  cannot  conceive  such  supposed  increase  as 
coming  from  nothing,  which  it  n.iust  do  to  be  actual  increase. 
It  can,  however,  conceive  the  integration  and  diffusion,  which, 
superficially  observed  may  appear  to  be  increase  and  diminu- 
tion, but  actual  increase  and  diminution  of  matter  cannot  be 
thought.  If  natural  law  extends  into  the  spiritual  world,  and 
the  principle  of  continuity  prevails,  this,  or  an  analogous  inte- 
gration and  diffusion,  is  there  going  on;  and  the  tenuous  com- 
ponents of  the  spiritual  beings  there  existing,  are  integrated 
and  diffused  in  their  successive  births,  growths,  deaths,  and 
decays;  while  the  ultimate  quantity  of  that  which  in  the  spirit- 
ual sphere  is  equivalent  or  analogous  to  matter  in  the  physical 
sphere,  remains  intact. 

If  the  existence  of  all  the  solid  and  tluid  portions  of  matter 


54  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

in  their  tangible  forms,  is  due  to  the  motion  generated  by  the 
diffusion  of  light  and  heat  from  the  sun,  and  if  the  result  of 
such  process  must  be  the  rediffusion  of  all  such  tangible  mat- 
ter, and  the  final  dissipation  of  the  sun's  heat,  substance,  and 
force,  then  all  material  existence  in  any  form  or  condition  of 
which  the  mind  can  conceive  must  cease,  or  at  least  revert  to 
the  intangible  element  from  which,  by  virtue  of  the  primary 
force  it  was  integrated  into  and  became  tangible  matter.  If, 
under  the  principle  of  continuity,  force  is,  and  remains  persis- 
tent notwithstanding  the  destruction  of  the  sun,  masses  of 
tangible  matter  may  be  again  integrated  from  such  intangible 
element.  While  the  process  may  be  of  incalculable  duration, 
yet  the  fact  that  it  is  a  process  which  science  insists  is  actually 
going  on,  renders  physical  existence  unfit  for  analogy  with 
anything  the  mind  can  conceive  of  as  spiritual  existence. 
Such  an  analogy  traced  to  its  necessary  logical  results,  ends  in 
such  an  absurdity  as  innumerable  endless  eternities  in  succes- 
sion. 

The  apologist  frequently  cites  the  authority  of  the  Founder 
of  Christianity  and  his  chief  apostle,  and  thereby  vouches  for 
their  credit.  But  he  inconsistently  admits,  or  rather  asserts, 
'their  insufficiency  in  proposing  to  fortify  them  by  harmonizing 
their  doctrine  with  the  wisdom  of  this  world.  He  certainly 
has  no  precedent  therefor  in  either  their  teaching  or  example. 
One  of  them  expressly  refused  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees  a 
sign,  and  the  other  said  he  was  sent  to  "preach  the  gospel, 
not  with  the  wisdom  of  words,  lest  the  cross  of  Christ  be  made 
of  none  effect.  *  *  *  Now  we  have  received,  not  the  spirit 
of  the  world,  but  the  spirit  which  is  of  God;  that  we  might 
know  the  things  that  are  freely  given  to  us  of  God.  Which 
things  also  we  speak,  not  in  the  words  which  man's  wisdom 
teacheth,  but  which  the  Holy  Ghost  teacheth;  comparing 
spiritual  things  with  spiritual."  He  is  here  forbidden  to  trail 
the  banner  of  the  cross  in  the  dust  of  science.  The  only  logi- 
cal theory  of  the  vindication  of  one  doctrine  by  virtue  of  its 
analogy  to  another,  implies  that  the  doctrine  being  vindicated 
is  of  inferior  authority.  If  this  is  so,  its  authors  are  no  author- 
ity for  anything  further  than  what  it  may  be  in  and  of  itself, 


religion's  obsequious  homage  to  science.  55 

and  regardless  of  its  validity.  They  cannot  properly  be  cited 
in  an  attempt  to  vindicate  their  doctrine  by  virtue  of  an  alleged 
analogy  which  they  have  repudiated. 

If  Christ  and  St.  Paul  are  authority  for  anything  it  is  for  the 
validity  of  their  religion  in  and  of  itself  and  upon  its  own  merit. 
According  to  them  it  is  the  religion  of  the  cross  and  the  resur- 
rection, or  it  is  nothing.  No  analogy  for  these  can  be  found  in 
nature,  and  they  cannot  be  accounted  for,  or  compared  with 
anything  ever  discovered  by  man  within  the  range  of  scientific 
investigation.  All  the  learned  vagaries,  elaborate  and  nicely 
rounded  periods,  scientific  and  mystified  allusions,  and  reckless 
assumptions,  that  can  be  wrought  in  language,  cannot  obviate 
the  apparently  trifling  difficulty  which  the  apologist  himself 
creates,  but  which  breaks  the  back  of  his  laboriously  learned 
effort, — that  is.  his  apparent  confidence  in  authority  which  his 
very  apology  implies  is  not  authentic.  If  he  is  under  contract 
to  furnish  thinking  men  a  truly  scientific  theology,  he  should 
not  go  to  Christ  or  St.  Paul  for  any  of  the  material  out  of  which 
to  construct  it.  He  should  not  cite  them  as  authority  when 
the  fact  that  he  regards  a  vindication  necessary,  implies  their 
insufficiency.  He  should  not  cite  them  to  establish  an  analogy 
which  they  have  repudiated.  If  there  is  a  religion  of  the  cross 
and  the  resurrection,  it  need  not  trem>ble  at  the  frown  or  the 
sneer  of  any  rationalist  or  chemical  analysist.  Egotistic  zealots 
with  more  learning  than  wisdom  need  not  rush  to  the  rescue 
of  such  religion  from  the  clutches  of  the  germ  microscopically 
detected  in  a  hay  infusion. 

The  apologist  quotes  frequently  from  the  writings  of  a  phil- 
osopher whose  credit  with  the  thinking  world  seems  to  be 
pretty  well  established.  He  has  said  sufficient,  if  he  is  author- 
itative, in  one  brief  paragraph  to  show,  not  only  that  religion 
need  not  tremble  at  the  method,  the  system,  the  reign  of  law, 
or  the  harmony  and  continuity  of  science ;  but  that  any  attempt 
to  harmonize  it  with  anything  knowable  in  nature  is  impossible 
and  illogical,  as  well  as  belittling  to  the  religion.  He  says, 
"Not  only  is  the  omnipresence  of  something  which  passes  com- 
prehension, that  most  abstract  belief  which  is  common  to  all 
religions,  which  becomes  the  more  distinct  in  proportion  as 


56  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

they  develope,  and  which  remains  after  their  discordant  ele- 
ments have  been  mutually  cancelled ;  but  it  is  that  belief  which 
the  most  unsparing  criticism  of  each  leaves  unquestionable — or 
rather  makes  ever  clearer.  It  has  nothing  to  fear  from  the  most 
inexorable  logic ;  but  on  the  contrary  is  a  belief  which  the  most 
inexorable  logic  shows  to  be  more  profoundly  true  than  any 
religion  supposes.  For  every  religion,  setting  out  though  it 
does  with  the  tacit  assertion  of  a  mystery,  forthwith  proceeds 
to  give  some  solution  of  this  mystery;  and  so  asserts  that  it  is 
not  a  mystery  passing  human  comprehension.  But  an  exam- 
ination of  the  solutions  they  severally  propound,  shows  them 
to  be  uniformly  invalid.  The  analvsis  of  every  possible  hypo- 
thesis proves,  not  simplv  that  no  hypothesis  is  sufhcient.  but 
that  no  sufficient  hopothesis  is  even  thinkable.  And  thus  the 
mystery  which  all  religions  recognize,  turns  out  to  be  a  far 
more  transcendent  mvstery  than  any  of  them  suspect — not  a 
relative  but  an  absolute  mystery."  These  are  the  words  of  an 
author  sufficiently  modest  and  sincere  to  admit  that  there  is  a 
limit  to  the  capacity  of  the  human  mind. 

I  am  not  contending  for  either  spontaneous  generation  or 
biogenesis  in  any  kind  of  life.  But  1  insist  that  no  hypothesis 
is  thinkable  in  which  either  doctrine  can  be  of  any  consequence 
to  the  Christian  religion.  The  alleged  natural  law,  "that  all 
life  is  the  gift  of  life,"  when  projected  into  the  spiritual  world 
is  absurdly  illogical.  If  all  spiritual  life  is  the  gift  of  spiritual 
life,  the  Almighty  has  himself  been  begotten.  On  the  author- 
ity of  a  microscopical  examination  of  a  hay  infusion  in  an 
hermetically  sealed  tube,  the  apologist  says  this  law  is  victor- 
iously established  in  the  phvsical  world.  To  trace  it  in  the 
spiritual  world  is  the  object  of  his  collossal  labor.  If  the  spirit- 
ual life  of  the  Almightv  was  not  given  to  him,  then  all  spiritual 
life  is  not  the  gift  of  spiritual  life,  and  the  alleged  analogy  is  not 
analogous.  The  apologist's  author  whom  1  last  above  quoted 
says,  the  mystery,  which  all  religions  recognize  is  not  a  rela- 
tive, but  an  absolute  mystery.  If  it  is  not  relative  it  can  have 
no  analogy  in  any  thing  knowable  or  thinkable.  Everything 
knowable  or  thinkable,    can  be   known   and   thought  only  in 


RELIGION  S    OBSEC^yiOUS    HOMAGE    TO   SCIENCE.  S7 

relation.     If  it  is  absolute  no  law  of  which   the  mind   can   con- 
ceive can  extend  to  or  affect  it. 

Speaking  of  degeneration,  and  tracing  an  alleged  analogy 
between  the  physical  and  spiritual  types  of  it  the  apologist  says, 
"The  bible  view  is  that  man  is  conceived  in  sin.  and  shapen  in 
iniquity.  And  experience  teJls  him  that  he  will  shape  himself 
into  further  sin  and  ever  deepening  iniquity  without  the  smallest 
effort,  without  in  the  least  intending  it.  and  in  the  most  natural 
way  in  the  world  if  he  simply  let  his  life  run."  If  this  is  done 
without  his  intending  it,  and  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the 
world,  it  must  be  the /r//// of  some  natural  law.  it  must  be 
natural  tor  man  to  go  that  way.  he  must  be  going  in  conform- 
ity with  natural  law  as  he  does  so.  in  other  words,  without 
doing  violence  to  natural  law.  he  soon  finds  himself  in  further 
sin  and  ever  deepening  iniquity,  without  in  the  least  intending 
it,  and  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world,  if  he  simply  let 
his  life  run.  This  is  as  absurd  as  the  doctrine  of  original  sin 
and  damnation  to  infants.  A  creature  subject  to  natural  law, 
endowed  with  certain  natural  propensities,  environed  in  a  man- 
ner arranged /or  and  not  by  him.  without  intending  himself  or 
any  one  else  any  wrong,  or  in  fact  intending  anything,  shapes 
himself  into  further  sin  and  ever  deepening  iniquity.  If  the 
result  of  this  is  just  retribution  for  wrong  he  has  not  done  nor 
intended  it  is  very  unfortunate  for  man  that  he  is  born.  It 
might  interest  him  to  know  whose  sin  he  is  conceived  in. 
whose  iniquity  it  is  he  is  shapen  in.  and  who  made  it  so  natural 
for  him  to  shape  himself  into  further  sin  and  ever  deepening 
iniquity. 

The  apologist  says,  "Apart  even  from  the  law  of  degener- 
ation, apart  from  reversion  to  type,  there  is  in  every  living  or- 
ganism a  law  of  death.  *  *  *  -This  law  which  is  true  for  the 
whole  plant  world,  is  also  valid  for  the  animal  and  for  man. 
Air  is  not  life,  but  corruption — so  literally  corruption  that  the 
only  wav  to  keep  out  corruption  when  life  has  ebbed,  is  to 
keep  out  air."  He  does  not  show,  however,  that  life  would  be 
prolonged,  or  that  corruption  would  be  kept  out  by  keeping 
out  air  before  life  has  ebbed.  His  analogy  to  this  in  spiritual 
life  is  interesting.     It  is  that  the  "Spiritual  life  in  like  manner, 


58  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

is  the  sum  total  of  the  functions  which  resist  sin.  The  soul's 
atmosphere  is  the  daily  trial,  circumstance,  and  temptation  of 
the  world.  And  as  it  is  life  alone  which  gives  the  plant  pow- 
er to  utilize  the  elements,  and  as,  without  it,  they  utilize  (de- 
stroy ?)  it,  so  it  is  the  spiritual  life  alone  which  gives  the  soul 
power  to  utilize  temptation  and  trial,  and  without  it  they  de- 
stroy the  soul."  Unless  air  is  not  necessary  to  physical  life, 
and  unless  the  soul's  atmosphere  (trial  and  temptation)  is  nec- 
essary to  spiritual  life,  this  analogy  is  not  very  analogous.  In 
view  of  the  fact  that  the  soul's  atmosphere,  trial  and  tempta- 
tion, would  destroy  the  soul  if  it  were  not  for  spiritual  life,  and 
that  they  are  active  working  opponents  of  each  other,  it  is 
difficult  to  conceive  how  such  atmosphere  can  be  as  essential 
to  spiritual  life  as  air  is  to  physical  life.  But  the  assumption 
and  analogy  are  both  false  and  frivolous.  To  maintain  that  air 
is  corrupting  because  it  facilitates  the  decomposition  of  matter 
when  life  has  ebbed  is  too  childish  to  be  found  in  anything  but 
a  fervent  ebullition  of  fanaticism.  The  alleged  parallel  is  be- 
tween physical  and  spiritual  life.  That  which  is  indispensable 
to  either  cannot  be  destructive  of  it.  If  the  soul's  atmosphere 
is  as  necessary  to  its  life  as  air  is  to  the  physical  life,  the  soul 
ought  to  be  kept  pretty  constantly  exposed  to  trial  and  tempta- 
tion. The  nitrogen  and  oxygen  of  the  physical  air  have  their 
counterparts  in  the  trial  and  temptation  of  the  soul's  atmosphere. 
The  Almighty  blew  the  former  compound  into  man's  nostrils, 
whereby  he  became  a  living  soul.  For  the  sake  of  the  analogy 
the  Devil  blew  the  latter  compound  into  the  soul's  nostrils, 
whereby  it  became  a  dying  spirit.  To  trace  any  of  these 
alleged  analogies  to  their  legitimate  results,  leads  to  palpable 
absurdity.  Take  for  instance  the  vindication  of  divine  wrath 
and  its  visitations.  The  apologist  says,  "'We  have  looked 
around  the  wards  of  a  hospital,  a  prison,  or  a  madhouse,  and 
seen  there  nature  at  work  squaring  her  accounts  with  sin." 
He  had  seen  in  some  hospital  a  sufferer  who  had  been  accident- 
ally exposed  to  some  contagion,  or  caught  in  some  explosion 
or  railroad  disaster;  or  who  had  inherited  consumption  or  scro- 
fula from  some  ancestor;  he  had  seen  in  some  prison  persons 
who  had  dared  to  have  and  express  political  and  religious  con- 


RELIGIONS  OBSEaUIOUS   HOMAGE   TO   SCIENCE.  59 

victions,  or  avenge  the  ruin  of  a  near  relative ;  and  in  a  mad- 
house he  had  seen  some  poor  lunatic  driven  to  his  deplorable 
condition  by  misfortune  in  business  or  love,  or  by  disease,  or 
by  disgrace  in  his  family ;  or  who  had  inherited  the  malady. 
If  divine  punishment  is  uniform,  inevitable,  and  only  in  just 
retribution  for  actual  wrong,  it  has  a  remarkable  parallel  here. 
Had  the  apologist  lived  a  little  earlier  he  might  have  seen  hosts 
of  men,  women  and  children  butchered  by  legal  authority 
for  adhering  to  what  they  seemed  to  regard  a  religion,  for 
which  he  now  tries  to  find  a  parallel  in  nature.  He  says,  "And 
we  knew  as  we  looked  that  if  no  Judge  sat  upon  the  throne  in 
heaven  at  all  there  was  a  judgment  there,  where  an  inexorable 
nature  was  crying  aloud  for  justice,  and  carrying  out  her  heavy 
sentences  for  violated  laws."  A  poor  creature  driven  by  neces- 
sity to  his  daily  toil,  is  sun-struck  in  the  busy  thoroughfare  of 
some  great  city.  He  is  hurriedly  loaded  into  a  patrol  wagon 
and  delivered  to  the  authorities  at  some  hospital,  and  Nature 
cries  aloud  for  justice  and  carries  out  her  heavy  sentences  for 
violated  laws. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  grotesque  similes  in  all  this  alleged 
analogy  is  in  the  chapter  devoted  to  the  subject  of  growth.  It 
opens  with  the  text,  "Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field  how  they 
grow."  If  spiritual  growth  is  the  result  of,  and  only  to  be 
attained  by,  the  constant  spiritual  effort  he  had  been  thereto- 
fore urging,  it  would  have  injured  this  particular  illustration  to 
have  quoted  the  residue  of  the  sentence  from  which  the  above 
was  taken  : — "They  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin."  Speaking 
of  the  Savior  he  says,  "He  made  the  lilies  and  He  made  me — 
both  on  the  same  broad  principle.  *  *  *  He  points  to  this 
companion-phenomena  to  teach  us  how  to  live  a  free  and 
natural  life,  a  life  which  God  will  unfold  for  us,  without  our 
anxiety,  <-\s  He  unfolds  the  tlower. "  If  the  doctrine  of  this 
chapter  is  true,  it  is  pretty  hard  on  that  of  the  one  next  preced- 
ing it,  where  we  are  asked,  "if  we  neglect  the  soul,  how  shall 
it  escape  the  natural  retrograde  movement,  the  relapse  into 
barrenness  and  death  ?"  If  the  Almighty  will  unfold  our  spirit- 
ual life  for  us,  without  our  anxiety,  as  he  unfolds  the  flower, 
we  need    not   be   alarmed   on   account   of  our   neglect.     The 


6o  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

learned  vagaries  with  which  this  chapter  is  replete  are  finally 
summed  up  in  the  proposition  that  '"the  problem  of  the  Chris- 
tian life  tinallv  is  simplified  to  this — Man  has  but  to  preserve 
the  right  attitude,  to  abide  in  Christ,  to  be  in  position,  that 
is  all."  If  there  were  anv  analogv  between  man  and  the  lily  in 
anv  respect,  and  man  should  once  establish  his  abode  in 
Christ,  or  be  in  position,  he  need  not  be  alarmed  about  pre- 
serving the  right  attitude.  The  lily  does  not  preserve  its  atti- 
tude. Were  there  such  analogy  man  need  not  concern  him- 
self about  obtaining  the  abode  or  being  placed  in  position  in 
the  first  instance.  He  would  have  about  as  much  to  do  with 
it  and  be  about  as  responsible  for  it  as  the  lilv.  If  there  is  no 
such  analogy  it  would  seem  supremely  silly,  to  so  learnedly 
elaborate  such  an  allusion  in  an  alleged  scientific  parallel  be- 
tween the  physical  and  the  spiritual. 

The  chapter  on  death  covering  thirty  pages,  contains  two 
brief  sentences  which,  if  true  and  traced  to  their  necessary  log- 
ical results,  show  the  utter  absurdity  of  the  entire  undertaking. 
They  are,  "Of  course  what  death  is  depends  upon  what  life  is. 

*  *  *  Its  (life's)  mysterious  Cjuality  evades  us;  and  we  have 
to  be  content  with  outward  characteristics  and  accompani- 
ments, leaving  the  thing  itself  an  unsolved  riddle."  And  yet 
the  apologist  proposes  to  trace  M^  alleged  parallel  between  this 
unsolved  riddle  and  the  alleged  spiritual  Hie.  Constantly  in 
contact  with  and  observation  of  the  life  whose  mysterious  equal- 
ity evades  us.  that  which  remains  an  unsolved  riddle  in  spite 
of  ail  the  experience  that  has  been  had  with  it.  and  ail  the 
learned  speculation  that  has  been  had  upon  it,  and  yet  devot- 
ing more  than  four  hundred  pages  of  learned  guess-work  to  an 
idle  effort  to  trace  an  alleged  analogy  between  it  and  the 
alleged  spiritual  life,  the  life  beyond  the  Styx! 

In  the  chapter  on  environment  the  apologist  says.  "We  are 
dealing  therefore  with  universal  law.  *  *  *  These  two. 
Heredity  and  Environment,  are  the'  master  influences  of  the 
organic  world.     These   have    made   all    of  us   what   we    are. 

*  *  *  In  the  spiritual  world,  also,  the  subtle  influences  which 
form  and  transform  the  soul,  are  Heredity  and  Environment." 
Here  the  entire   argument   and   all   excuse   for   making  it   are 


religion's  obsequious  homage  to  science.  6 1 

argued  away.  Man.  physical  and  spiritual,  is  made  what  he 
is  by  two  intluences.  the  (irst  of  which  he  can  bv  no  possibility 
avert,  and  it  is  suft^kient  to  prevent  him  from  averting  the 
second.  The  sillv  simile  of  the  gizzard  of  the  grain-fed  pigeon 
may  serve  to  show  the  apologist's  acquaintance  with  natural 
history,  but  the  individual  responsibility  he  has  urged  so  sedul- 
ously would  seem  to  render  man  an  inappropriate  subject  of 
such  a  comparison.  If  heredity  and  envii"onment  make  us  what 
we  are.  we  havc  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  apologist  says 
that  while  we  cannot  escape  heredity,  we  may  change  or  make 
our  own  environment.  But  if  heredity  is  the  univei'sal  law  he 
says  it  is.  the  environment  we  change  to  or  make  will  be  ac- 
cording to  such  heredity.  If  we  cannot  escape  heredity  we 
must  inherit  just  what  is  transmitted  to  us,  even  if  it  is  an  un- 
controllable tendency  to  evil  and  a  perverse  predilection  to  in- 
jurious environment. 

One  may  with  propriety  attempt  to  vindicate  a  system  or 
doctrine  of  known  inferiority,  or  of  doubtful  authenticity,  by 
showing  its  analogy  to  another  of  known  superiority  or  certain 
authenticity.  The  true  and  the  only  logical  theory  of  vindica- 
tion by  analogy  involves  the  idea  that  the  subject  of  the  at- 
tempted vindication  is  of  authenticity  inferior  to  that  of  the  one 
by  comparison  with  which  it  is  to  be  vindicated.  The  book 
called  Natural  Law  In  The  Spiritual  World  is  an  exhibition  of 
irrational  and  illogical  irreverence  of  its  author  to  the  Almighty. 
It  exhibits  him  as  affecting  an  easy  familiarity  with  the  Being, 
of  any  one  of  whose  attributes  man  is  utterly  helpless  to  conceive. 
One  may  think  of  goodness,  greatness,  wisdom,  and  power; 
but  no  one  can  think  either  of  them  as  infinite  and  absolute; 
without  limit  and  without  relation.  Until  that  shall  be  intelli- 
gently done,  the  tracing  of  natural  law  in  the  spiritual  world 
will  be  at  least  premature.  But  while  the  apologist  is  so  pert 
with  his  Maker  he  goes  to  the  opposite  extreme  with  Science. 
He  obsequiously  proposes  to  furnish  thinking  men  a  truly  scien- 
tific theology.  He  attempts  to  justify  them  in  rejecting  an  un- 
scientific theology,  and  urges  the  reformation  of  the  religion  to 
suit  the  fastidious  tastes  of  the  learned  in  this  world's  wisdom. 
He  says  that  "an  eye  which  has  looked  upon  that  cannot  look 


62  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

upon  this.  To  do  so  and  rest  in  the  contemplation  it  has  first 
to  uncentury  itself."  He  seems  to  regard  this  a  very  precocious 
and  imperious  century.  The  Lord  should  uncrown  himself 
in  its  presence.  Calvary  and  Gethsemane  are  not  in  it.  If 
Sampson  carried  away  the  gate  of  Gaza,  the  microscopically 
discovered  germ  in  a  hay  infusion  has  carried  away  the  gate  of 
Zion;  it  has  rendered  "the  cross  of  Christ  of  none  effect." 


CHAPTER   III. 

EPIC  APOLOGETICS. 
Paradise  Lost,  the  Grandest  of  all  Metrical  Apologetics — Its  Purpose  to  Assert 
and  Justify  Eternal  Providence — Admits  Unceitainty  of  Existence  and  Jus- 
tice of  the  Almighty — Atheist  Supposed — -Argument  Would  Confuse  More 
Than  Convince  Him — Incongruity  Obscured  by  Grandeur,  Extravagance, 
Metaphor,  Etc — Occasion  and  Object  of  Creation — Imply  Free-will  and 
Fatalism — Fall  of  Man,  Bad  Economy — Providence  Responsible — Philoso- 
phy of  Poem  Overrated — Meant  to  Immo-talize  Poet — Skepticism  Over- 
rated— Miracle,  Prophecy,  and  Revelation,  as  Authoritative  fur  One  System 
as  Another — Audacity  of  Theological  Reasoning — Question  Personal  to 
Each  Individual  —Neither  Freedom  Nor  Fatalism  Can  be  Made  to  Appear 
Reasonable — Gibbon's  Tribute  to  Christianity. 

Early  in  the  period  in  which  some  have  placed  the  so-called 
Christian  Renaissance  the  blind  Bard  of  Albion  who  has  sung 
the  grandest  of  all  metrical  apologetics,  invoked  the  heavenly 
Muse  to  aid  his  adventurous  song  in  pursuit  of  things  thereto- 
fore unattempted  in  prose  or  rhyme;  that  he  might  assert  eter- 
nal Providence,  and  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men.  Such  an 
avowal  of  such  a  purpose  is  sufficient  to  put  a  reader  to  think- 
ing. The  manner  in  which  the  purpose  is  prosecuted,  and 
said  to  be  executed,  may  suggest  the  thought  which  will  result 
in  a  correct  estimate  of  the  proposed  assertion  and  justification. 

If  we  can  conceive  that  eternal  Providence  has  not  already 
sufficiently  asserted  itself,  possibly  we  may  then  imagine  that 
some  inspired  enthusiast  might  assert  it,  and  justify  the  ways 
of  the  Almighty  to  men.  But  the  questions  occur: — what  is 
any  one  of  those  ways.^  and — by  what  standard  are  they  to  be  jus- 
tified ?  If  they  are  to  be  justified  in  reason,  the  effort  is  a  fore- 
gone failure  at  its  inception.  The  further  questions  occur: — 
Does  any  rational  creature  really  doubt  either  the  existence  or 
justice  of  the  Almighty  ?  When  and  where  has  man  existed 
without  worship  ?  What  was  ever  argued  in  isolated  cases  of 
irreverence  ?  Why  should  a  learned  zealot  dignify  the  inco- 
herent scoffer  with  undeserved  attention  ?  Why  is  one  of  the 
greatest  Epopees  devoted  to  and  disfigured  by  a  chimerical 
scheme  in  nature  ?    Why  in  such  scheme  is  man,  for  whom  it 


64  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

is  wrought,  predisposed  to  his  own  ruin  ?  Whv  was  he  cre- 
ated with  evil  propensities,  and  menaced  with  his  Creator's 
wrath  if  he  yields  to  them  ?  Whv  were  the  objects  of  his 
dangerous  desires  placed  temptinglv  in  his  wav  ?  It  it  was  to 
fix  him  with  responsibilitv  for  his  own  inevitable  ruin,  is  there 
a  human  mind  in  which  the  conception  of  his  free-agencv  can 
be  clearlv  arranged  ?  If  the  fall  was  pre-determined  does  man 
elect,  or  is  he  not  destined  to  his  part  in  the  performance  ?  Is* 
not  the  idea  of  man's  creation  entirely  incompatible  with  the 
idea  of  his  free-agencv  ?  If  he  was  created,  he  must  have  been 
created  bv  his  Creator.  If  he  was  created  by  his  Creator,  he 
must  have  been  created  as  his  (jeator  created  him.  Learned 
vagaries,  glittering  generalities,  and  ethereal  flights  may  please 
a  fancy,  but  they  elude  rather  than  answer  such  inquiries. 

To  try  the  validity  of  the  proposed  assertion  and  justifica- 
tion, as  addressed  to  the  human  understanding,  an  intelligent 
atheist  may  be  supposed.  Then  suppose  Raphael  should  say 
to  him : — 

"To  ask  or  search  1  blame  thee  not,  tor  heaven 
Is  as  the  book  of  God  before  thee  set, 
Wherein  to  read  his  wonderous  works,  and  learn 
The  seasons,  hours,  or  days,  or  months,  or  years — " 

and  then  rebukt-  his  inciuisitiveness  with  the  admonition  to 

"Solicit  not  thy  thoughts  with  matters  hid;" 
would  his  skeptical  nature  content  itself  in  Adam's  response 

"That  not  to  know  at  large  of  things  remote 
From  use,  obscure  and  subtle,  but  to  knovV 
That  which  before  us  lies  in  daily  life 
Is  the  prime  wisdom?"' 

Or  would  it  not  rather  prompt  the  petulant  protest  of  Eve,  that 

"     *  *     good  unknown  sure  is  not  had,  or  had 
And  yet  unknown,  is  not  had  at  all  ?" 

Is  not  the  philosophic  (?)  speculation  of  the  proposed  assertion 
and  justification  itself  interdicted  in  the  sentiment  of  the  angelic 
behests  ? 

Then  suppose  the  intelligent  atheist  whose  judgment  is  to 
be  convinced  is  further  admonished  to — 


EPIC   APOLOGETICS.  65 

"Accuse  not  nature;  she  hath  done  her  part, 

Do  thou  but  thine,  and  be  not  diffident  of  wisdom — " 

would  not  the  incoherency  of  the  admonitions  confuse  instead 
of  convince  ?  One  might  be  expected  to  lose  sight  of  the  in- 
coherency in  the  maze  of  metaphor  and  allegory  in  which  it  is 
involved ;  but  if  he  is  to  be  not  diffident  of  wisdom,  and  is  to 
solicit  not  his  thoughts  with  matters  hid,  it  might  be  interest- 
ing to  him  to  know  whose  wisdom  he  is  to  confide  in,  and 
how  he  is  to  distinguish  it  from  folly,  if  that  which  before  us 
lies  in  daily  life  is  the  prime  wisdom,  the  atheist  might  think 
that  the  inscrutable  ways  of  God  to  men  are  of  minor  import- 
ance. He  may  have  no  right  to  accuse  nature,  because  she 
may  have  done  her  part,  but  it  is  difficult  for  him  to  regard  it 
very  well  done  if  she  created  him  with  all  his  evil  tendencies 
and  placed  him  where  he  would  be  morally  certain  to  yield  to 
them. 

There  may  be  instances  in  which  it  is  unfair  to  excerpt  dis- 
tinct passages  for  the  purpose  of  showing  inconsistency  in  the 
propositions  of  a  doctrine;  but  when  such  parts  plainly  present 
the  ideas  upon  which  the  doctrine  is  based  it  is  not  unfair.  If 
the  system  evolved  in  the  rhapsody  is  without  system,  and  if 
the  incongruity  of  its  propositions  is  obscured  by  weird  words, 
one  may  with  sufficient  propriety  analyze  the  fustian,  and  if  he 
discerns  its  sacred  foibles  he  should  disclose  them.  The  halo 
of  sanctity  that  shrouds  gross  absurdity  should  be  removed. 
The  righteousness  of  no  cause  can  justify  either  the  perpetra- 
tion of  fraud  or  resort  to  sophistry. 

If  it  was  meant  that  the  multitude  should  only  hear  and  be 
horrified  by  the  thunders  from  Sinai's  summit,  and  that  a 
peculiarly  gifted  one  should  hold  the  key  to  interpretation,  mir- 
acle is  said  to  have  supplied  the  want  of  reason  in  enforcing 
the  meteoric  monitions.  But  here  the  effect  of  the  absence  of 
both  reason  and  miracle  is  aggravated  by  inconsistency  in  the 
propositions.  As  if  discord  and  debility  could  be  conceived  of 
as  pervading  infinite  harmony  and  power,  the  celestial  Emis- 
sary declares  that  the  creation  of  the  world  and  of  man  was 
solely  to  retrieve  a  loss  sustained  by  the  Almighty  by  means  of 
an  intestine  war  in  His  own  realms. 


66  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

"Know  then,  that  after  Lucifer  from  heaven 
(So  call  him,  brighter  once  amidst  the  host 
Of  angels,  than  that  star  the  stars  among) 
Fell  with  his  flaming  legions  through  the  deep 
Into  his  place,  and  the  great  Son  returned 
Victorious  with  his  saints,  the  Omnipotent 
Eternal  Father  from  his  throne  beheld 
Their  multitude,  and  to  his  Son  thus  spake: 
*  *  *     heaven  yet  populous  retains 
Number  sufficient  to  possess  her  realms 
Though  wide,  and  this  high  temple  to  frequent 
With  ministeries  due  and  solemn  rites; 
But  lest  his  heart  exalt  him  in  the  harm 
Already  done,  to  have  dispeopled  heaven. 
My  damage  fondly  deemed,  I  can  repair 
That  detriment,  if  such  it  be  to  lose 
Self  lost;  and  in  a  moment  will  create 
Another  world,  out  of  one  man  a  race 
Of  men  innumerable,  there  to  dwell. 
Not  here;  till  by  degrees  o(  merit  raised 
They  open  to  themselves  the  way 
Up  hither;  Under  long  obedience  tried." 

If  these  are  the  occasion  and  object  of  the  creation  of  the 
world  and  of  man,  they  are  an  exhibition  of  petty  resentment 
and  envy  on  the  part  of  the  Creator,  who,  lest  Lucifer"s  heart 
exalt  him  in  the  harm  already  done,  would  undertake  so  much, 
and  involve  so  many  in  hopeless  ruin,  merely  to  neutralize  the 
exultation  of  His  vanquished  Rival.  It  might  be  irrelevant, 
possibly  irreverent,  to  inquire  what  Lucifer  could  exult  over. 
It  is  obvious  that  man  would  have  just  such  merit  as  his  Crea- 
tor would  endow  him  with;  and  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  a 
limit  to  that  with  .which  He  could  have  endowed  him.  He 
could  have  so  endowed  him  as  to  have  insured  that  he  would 
open  to  himself  the  way  up  hither,  and  to  have  been  proof 
against  all  the  wiles  of  wickedness.  It  is  evident  that  it  would 
not  repair  the  detriment  resulting  from  the  defection  of  Lucifer 
and  his  hosts,  to  create  out  of  one  man  a  race  of  men  innumer- 
able to  be  decoyed  to  damnation.  Fate  can  not  be  thought 
consonant  with  the  free  agency  implied  in  the  proposition  that 
man  by  degrees  of  merit  raised  should  open  to  himself  the  way 
up  hither.     The  will  of  the  Almighty  is  fate,  and  fate  is  the 


EPIC    APOLOGETICS.  67 

will  of  the  Almighty.  If  this  is  correct  there  is  no  free  agency, 
and  there  can  be  no  intelligent  idea  of  obedience  or  duty.  The 
Almighty  declares, 

"Though  1,  unciiCLimscribed  myself,  retire, 
And  put  not  forth  my  goodness,  which  is  free 
To  act  or  not;  necessity  and  chance 
Approach  not  me,  and  what  I  will  is  fate." 

It  is  strange  that  a  Being  of  infinite  goodness  wisdom  and 
power  would  place  the  Cherubim  with  flaming  swords  to 
guard  paradise,  and  still  allow  the  destroyer  to  enter  and  effect 
the  ruin  in  His  sight. 

"Meanwhile  the  heinous  and  despiteful  act 

Of  Satan  done  in  Paradise,  and  how 

He  in  the  serpent  had  perverted  Eve, 

Her  husband  she,  to  taste  the  fatal  fruit, 

Was  known  in  heaven;  for  what  can  'scape  the  eye 

Of  God  all-seeing,  or  deceive  His  heart 

Omniscient  ?" 

If  man  was  created  sufficient  to  have  stood  though  free  to 
fall,  endowed  with  intelligence  and  reason,  and  warned  of  his 
danger,  he  need  not  have  been  guarded  at  all.  If  he  was 
nevertheless  to  be  guarded  by  the  invincible  forces  of  heaven, 
against  a  foe  so  lately  vanciuished,  it  ought  to  have  been  more 
effectively  done.  If  it  was  already  known  that  he  would  fall  a 
prey  to  the  Destroyer  and  drag  down  to  damnation  countless 
millions  of  his  "faithless  progeny,"  it  was  a  senseless  display 
of  insincere  solicitude  to  have  the  celestial  sentries  doing 
guard  duty  in  the  purlieus  of  paradise. 

"Assembled  angels  and  ye  powers  returned 
From  unsuccessful  charge,  be  not  dismayed, 
Nor  troubled  at  these  tidings  from  the  earth 
Which  your  sincerest  care  could  not  prevent; 
Foretold  so  lately  what  would  come  to  pass, 
When  first  the  Tempter  crossed  the  gulf  from  hell 
I  told  you  then  he  should  prevail,  and  speed 
On  his  bad  errand." 

It  was  a  Strange  principle  of  economy  upon  which  the 
world  was  peopled  and  damned  twice,  to  save  Enoch  in  the 
first  instance  and  Noah  in  the  second. 


68  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

"But  he,  the  seventh  from  thee,  whom  thou  beheldest 

The  ©nly  righteous  in  a  world  perverse, 

*****     Him  the  most  high 

Rapt  in  balmy  clouds  with  winged  steeds 

Did  as  thou  sawest,  receive  to  walk  with  God. 

************* 

The  one  just  man  alive;  by  His  command 

Shall  build  a  wsnderous  ark,  as  thou  beheldest. 

To  »ave  himself  and  household  from  amidst 

A  world  devote  to  universal  wrack." 

The  creature  was  by  his  Creator  endowed  with  just  such 
propensities  as  would  tend  him  to  ruin,  which  was  not  only 
foreknown  and  foretold,  but  was  foreordained.  The  decoy  to 
destruction  was  placed  temptingly  in  his  way,  and  he  was  so 
constituted  as  to  be  morally  certain  to  yield  to  the  temptation. 
With  the  feigned  solicitude  of  infinite  wisdom  he  was  admon- 
ished of  danger,  and  guarded  against  the  Tempter  by  the  same 
Power  which  had  already  ordained  that  he  should  fall,  and 
foretold  that  the  Tempter  would  speed  on  his  bad  errand. 
Man  was  by  his  Creator  armed  with  just  such  resolution  as 
Would  be  easily  overcome,  and  the  infinite  power  of  his  Crea- 
tor was  helpless  to  protect  him  from  the  toils  of  a  Fiend  by  the 
same  power  endowed  with  just  sufficient  art  to  overcome. 
Countless  millions  of  his  fliithless  progeny  are  involuntarily 
thrust  into  being,  each  personally  accountable  for  the  wicked 
weakness  of  the  creature  who  had  no  voice  or  choice  as  to  his 
existence,  or  in  the  determination  of  either  his  endowment  of 
environment.  And  when  he  fell,  as  it  was  from  all  eternity 
ordained  that  he  should,  he  dragged  all  mankind  down  with 
him,  victims  ofthe  Fiend  by  heaven  empowered  to  work  the 
veiy  destruction  by  heaven  so  deplored.  Satan's  power  for 
evil  is  said  to  have  been  given  him  by  the  infinitely  wise  and 
good  and  benevolent  Creator  of  Man. 

"Satan,  1  know  thy  strength,  thou  knowest  mine, 
Neither  our  own,  but  given;  what  folly  then, 
To  boast  what  arms  can  do;  since  thine  no  more 
Than  heaven  permits,  nor  mine,     ^  ^  *     ." 

Interjections  in  the  nature  of  undertone  disavowals  of  re- 
sponsibility for  foreknown  and  foreordained  results,  argue  noth- 


EPIC   APOLOGETICS.  69 

ing.  If  it  was  known  from  all  eternity  that  man,  when  creat- 
ed, would  fall,  then  he  was  created  solely  that  he  might  fall; 
if  not,  his  creation  was  an  exhibition  of  shortsightedness  on 
the  part  of  his  Creator.  If  the  fall  was  foreknown  it  comes 
with  a  bad  grace  to  attempt  to  shift  the  responsibility  to  the 
creature,  who  was  not  only  just  what  he  was  made,  but  was 
also  after  a  great  show  of  protection,  purposely  exposed  to  the 
fiend  by  the  same  power  purposely  empowered  and  ordained 
to  effect  the  ruin. 

"Whose  fault  : 

Whose  but  his  own?     Ingrate,  he  had  of  me 
All  he  could  have  :     I  made  him  just  and  right, 
Sufficient  to  have  stood,  though  free  to  fall. 

They  therefore  as  to  right  belonged, 

So  were  created,  nor  justly  can  accuse 

Their  Maker,  or  their  making  or  their  fate, 

As  if  predestination  overruled 

Their  will,  disposed  by  absolute  decree 

Or  high  foreknowledge;  they  themselves  decreed 

Their  own  revolt,  not  I,  if  I  foreknew 

Foreknowledge  had  no  influence  on  their  fault 

Which  had  no  less  proved  certain  unforeknown." 

That  man  is  at  fault  in  his  fall  implies  free-agency.  That 
his  fall  was  foreknown,  and  had  no  less  proved  certain  unfore- 
known, implies  predestination.  The  effort  is  to  compound  a 
mixture  of  freedom  and  fatalism,  and  they  will  not  mix.  There 
is  no  affinity  between  them.  If  man  was  made  fust  and  right 
and  sufficient  to  have  stood,  he  would  never  have  fallen,  no 
matter  how  free  to  do  so.  The  fiict  that  he  fell  is  conclusive 
proof  that  he  was  not  made  just  and  right.  If  he  were  made 
sufficient  to  have  stood,  he  fell  from  his  own  choice,  and  if  he 
was  made  just  and  right  such  could  not  have  been  his  choice. 
No  one  deliberately  choosing  that  which  he  knows  to  be  in- 
finitely the  worse  for  himself — besides  entailing  eternal  damna- 
tion on  countless  millions  of  "his  faithless  progeny" — can  be 
either  just  or  right.  It  is  absurd  to  say  that  they  themselves 
decreed  their  own  revolt,    when  even  their  will  is  made  for 


70  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

them,  disposed  by  absolute  decree,  and  their  fall  foreknown  by 
the  Power  which  created  them  and  gave  them  their  will. 

in  human  affairs  personal  safety  is  a  fundamental  principle. 
If  a  man  should  place  a  deadly  agency  in  the  way  of  a  child, 
he  would  not  be  regarded  a  powerful,  wise,  and  beneficient 
person.  It  would  not  avail  him  in  case  of  injury  to  say  that 
the  child  was  forewarned,  nor  that  it  meddled  from  its  own 
caprice.  Had  he  previously  inculcated  in  the  child  a  propens- 
ity to  meddle,  and  then  while  pretending  to  protect  it,  should 
cause  or  permit  it  to  be  tempted  to  its  destruction,  he  could 
not  shift  the  responsibility  to  the  child  by  saying  it  was  fore- 
warned. The  disparity  between  the  Almighty  and  the  strong- 
est imaginable  man,  is  infinitely  greater  than  that  between 
such  man  and  the  weakest  imaginable  child.  It  is  impossible 
to  think  of  the  Almighty  as  a  being  of  limited  power.  It  is 
impossible  to  think  that  he  created  man  without  constituting 
him  just  as  he  is  constituted,  and  with  the  tendencies  to  what- 
ever changes  he  has  made  or  suffered.  The  Power  which 
created  man  gave  him  the  very  propensities  to  evil  with  which 
he  is  cursed,  and  endowed  him  with  just  sufficient  firmness  to 
yield,  and  placed  him  where  he  was  certain  to  be  tempted. 
We  can  not  believe  that  part  of  this  is  done  by  one  Power  and 
the  residue  by  another.  We  cannot  believe  that  these  rival 
Powers  are  of  equal  force;  indeed  we  know  they  cannot  be  of 
equal  force  if  either  is  infinite,  any  more  than  two  solid  bodies 
can  occupy  precisely  the  same  space  at  precisely  the  same 
time.  If  the  Creator  is  infinitely  powerful  the  Destroyer  cannot 
be,  and  Raphael  declares  that  the  Creator  hurled  the  Destroyer 
from  heaven  to  hell.  Then  the  part  which  he  took  in  the  ruin 
of  man  could  have  been  prevented,  and  the  ruin  was  by  the 
permission,  or  rather  the  purpose  of  the  Creator,  who,  lest  it 
should  fail  of  consummation,  constituted  man  so  that  he  would 
hearken  to  the  Devil's  glossing  lies — and  so  would  fall,  he  and 
his  faithless  progeny. 

Man  cannot  conceive  that  he  is  accountable  for  inborn  pro- 
pensities; and  he  cannot  escape  hereditary  disease,  any  more 
than  the  Ethiopian  can  change  his  skin,  or  the  leopard  his  spots. 

It  is  said  that  Lucifer  himself  was  "brighter  once  amidst  the 


EPIC   APOLOGETICS.  7 1 

host  of  angels,  than  that  star  the  stars  among."  He  must  then 
have  been  holy  and  perfect.  We  are  not  informed  who  tempted 
him,  nor  that  he  was  tempted.  If,  without  being  beguiled  he 
fell  from  perfect  holiness  in  highest  heaven  to  grossest  guilt  in 
lowest  hell,  merely  to  exercise  the  free-will  with  which  he  was 
endowed,  it  would  seem  that  free-will  was  a  dangerous  quality 
with  which  to  endow  the  creature  newly  created  for  the  pur- 
pose of  repairing  the  detriment  occasioned  by  his  defection.  If 
that  was  the  purpose  of  man's  creation  the  peril  of  his  position 
should  not  have  been  increased  by  the  addition  of  propensities 
to  evil,  and  the  placing  of  the  objects  of  his  dangerous  desires 
temptingly  in  his  way.  and  then  causing  him  to  be  beset  with 
a  Fiend  whom  it  was  already  known  he  would  not  resist.  The 
mind  cannot  comprehend  the  beneficence  that  creates  of  one, 
millions  of  millions  of  souls,  and  exposes  them  all  in  the  one  to 
the  toils  of  a  Tempter,  well  knowing  that  man  would  "hearken 
to  his  glossing  lies,  and  so  will  fall,  he  and  his  faithless  pro- 
geny," and  that  the  Tempter  would  "speed  on  his  bad  errand." 

This  great  assertion  and  justification,  has  received  the  tribute 
of  amazed  admiration  for  more  than  two  hundred  years.  But 
it  implies  infinitely  less  effrontery  in  one  to  candidly  examine  it, 
than  for  its  author  to  transcend  human  thought  in  a  poetical 
process  of  reasoning,  predicating  the  existence  and  justice  of  the 
Almighty  on  improvised  principles  hopelessly  inapplicable  in 
any  known  or  supposable  phase  of  human  affairs.  There  is 
nothing  in  it  tending  to  elucidate  any  vexed  question,  or  to  re- 
solve any  doubt.  The  capacity  essential  to  read  and  compre- 
hend it,  is  sufficient  to  detect  its  fallacies  and  incongruities  when 
once  it  is  duly  appreciated.  It  is  then  discerned  that  it  neither 
asserts  eternal  providence,  nor  justifies  the  way  of  God  to  men. 

No  rational  being  has  ever  really  doubted  either  the  existence 
or  justice  of  the  Almighty,  nor  can  such  one  account  for  His 
being,  or  comprehend  His  justice.  There  is  no  logic  in  atheism. 
If  it  were  possible  for  a  rational  creature  to  so  doubt,  he  could 
not  be  convinced  by  irrational  argument  or  extravagant  asser- 
tion. A  mind  capable  of  the  thought  expressed  in  the  alleged 
assertion  and  justification,  probably  might  have  estimated  its 
effect  on  other  minds.     If  so,  its  purpose  was  not  to  assert 


72  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

eternal  Providence  nor  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  discerning  mert. 
It  was  written  for  some  other  purpose.  There  is  no  passion 
stronger  than  ambition.  Nothing  more  gratefully  gratifies  this 
than  fame.  No  fame  is  so  enviable  as  that  for  mental  attain- 
ment. In  no  province  in  mental  attainment  is  superiority  so 
enviably  famous  as  in  poetry.  The  real  purpose  of  the  Paradise 
Lost  becomes  apparent.  If  not,  the  reader  can  find  in  a  biog- 
raphy of  its  author,  that  he  had  declared  he  would  write  a  poem 
which  would  perpetuate  his  memory  while  language  and  liter- 
ature shall  last.  Perhaps  it  may.  But  it  argues  very  little  for 
the  intelligence  of  a  race  that  such  memory  is  so  perpetuated  on 
account  of  the  philosophy  of  the  poem.  Many  beautiful  things 
therein  are  beautifully  said,  but  when  candidly  tested  on  prin- 
ciples of  universal  application  its  alleged  system  is  no  system, 
its  ostensible  object  has  no  basis. 

The  tendency  to  skepticism  is  intensified  by  vehement  op- 
position. It  assumes  proportions  as  it  is  dignified  by  contro- 
versial attention.  Obvious  truths  may  be  made  debatable  to 
some  minds  by  the  use  of  circuitous  and  importunate  argument 
in  their  support.  To  seriously  urge  any  proposition  implies  in- 
telligence on  the  part  of  the  auditor,  and  plausibility  in  the  con- 
verse of  the  proposition  urged ;  and  upon  the  theory  that  only 
desperate  causes  require  extreme  measures,  intense  fervor  and 
grotesque  metaphor  discredit  the  apologist  and  his  cause  in  ad- 
vance. The  assertion  and  justification  are  a  challenge  to  debate 
upon  the  validity  of  principles  which  admit  of  no  debate,  simply 
because  they  are  beyond  the  possibility  of  human  comprehen- 
sion. The  judgment  of  discerning  men  is  not  to  be  convinced 
by  the  expression,  how  grandly  or  learnedly  soever,  of  pro- 
positions irreconcilable  with  the  essential  results  of  their  obser- 
vation and  experience,  and  repugnant  to  their  instincts. 

But  the  effort  is  not  addressed  to  such  judgment.  It  is  a 
magnificent  mausoleum  to  the  memory  of  a  man  of  letters,  in 
which  he  has  immortalized  himself  in  really  disparaging  the 
cause  he  has  assumed  to  advocate.  It  smacks  somewhat  of 
assurance  in  one  helpless  to  conceive  of  the  principle  of  vitality 
which  animates  the  minutest  insect,  to  attempt  to  assert  eternal 
Providence  and  justify  the  ways   of  God  to  men.     If  palpable 


EPiC    APOLOGETICS.  73 

phenomena  are  hopelessly  inscrutable,  if  the  bursting  of  a  bud 
cannot  be  intelligibly  traced  up  to  first  principles,  it  would  be 
a  desperate  undertaking  to  attempt  to  ascertain  and  declare  the 
relations  existing  between  man  and  his  Maker.  Unless  it  can 
be  done  successfully  and  incontrovertibly,  there  is  no  utility  in 
the  attempt.  Such  affected  familiarity  with  the  inscrutable 
wisdom  of  divine  Power  tends  more  to  debase  the  mind  with 
irreverence,  than  to  ennoble  it  with  respect  for  the  Power 
which  it  must  believe  exists  somewhere  and  in  some  way, 
yet,  which  it  must  also  realize  is  forever  beyond  its  compre- 
hension. 

When,  in  the  thunderstorm,  the  untutored  savage  prostrates 
himself  upon  and  kisses  the  bosom  of  his  mother  earth,  ex- 
claiming the  Great  Spirit  is  angry,  he  manifests  a  reverential 
awe.  it  may  be  mingled  with  a  base  and  servile  fear,  but  it 
has  the  merit  of  sincerity,  and  is  devoid  of  arrogant  f^imiliarity 
with  that  which  he  cannot  conceive  of  Yet  there  is  as  much 
philosophy  in  his  ejaculation  as  in  all  the  dogmatical  apologetics 
ever  written.  No  one  is  known  to  be  divinely  authorized  to 
measure  the  devotion  and  prescribe  the  ritual  by  which  the 
savage  is  to  propitiate  the  Almighty  and  appease  his  wrath  at 
the  offence  of  ancestors,  done  five  or  six  thousand  years  ago, 
and  of  which  he  has  not  even  a  tradition.  If  something  within 
prompts  him  to  adoration,  and  if  in  simplicity  and  awe  he  sin- 
cerely adores,  it  is  worse  than  unprofitable  that  a  deeply  laid 
scheme  of  Providence  be  learnedly  elaborated,  and  based  upon 
assumptions  which  shock  the  sense  of  justice,  and  strain  credu- 
lity with  a  violence  only  equalled  by  the  amazement  with 
which  one  beholds  the  weird  extravagance  in  which  it  is  as- 
serted. If  it  were  objected  that  his  devotion  is  blind  and  his 
tenets  unintelligible,  the  objector  can  only  offer  his  own  con- 
victions, if  he  has  any,  in  their  stead.  Unless  he  proposes 
something  superior  in  point  of  sincerity,  and  more  intelligible 
to  the  savage  in  reasonableness  of  doctrine,  he  certainly  confers 
no  favor  upon  him  by  disturbing  him  in  his  primitive  faith. 
Beauty  of  expression,  epithet,  nicely  rounded  periods,  and  fault- 
less measure,  may  be  used  in  the  expression  of  any  one  doc- 


74  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

trine,  as  well  as  any  other.     Metaphor,  allegory,   and  analogy, 
are  just  as  appropriate  in  Fetichism  as  in  Christianity. 

The  scheme  conceived  in  the  alleged  assertion  and  justifica- 
tion will  not  bear  investigation  according  to  any  criteria  avail- 
able to  the  human  mind.  The  doctrine,  though  educed  and 
proclaimed  in  thought  ever  so  sublime,  and  language  ever  so 
grand,  reasons  around  in  a  mist  of  confusion,  and  comes  back 
to  the  assumptions  from  which  it  started :  and  they  are  so  gro- 
tesquely absurd  as  to  provoke  the  derision  of  every  one  who 
candidly  considers  them.  Revelation  is  invoked,  but  we  are 
not  informed  whv  anvone  instead  of  any  other  person  was 
selected  as  the  Spokesman  of  the  Almighty;  nor  upon  what 
authority,  other  than  that  of  the  Spokesman  himself,  we  are  to 
rely  for  the  fact  that  he  was  so  selected.  TlTe  crudely  impro- 
vised principles  of  an  alleged  theology,  which  are  themselves 
repugnant  to  every  one's  sense  of  justice  and  all  practical  utility, 
are  not  validated  in  Revelation  which  is  itself  not  only  more 
repugnant  to  natural  justice  and  utility,  but  depends  for  its 
authenticity  upon  the  ipse  dixit  of  the  alleged  medium  through 
which  divine  Power  is  said  to  have  expressed  itself. 

Miracle  and  prophecy  are  also  invoked.  But  so  far  as 
human  cognition  is  concerned  the  existence  of  each  and  every 
atom  of  matter  is  miraculous:  the  loss  and  subsequent  recovery 
by  the  Egyptian  King  Pheron  of  his  sight  was  miraculous;  the 
delivery  of  the  French  by  a  country  girl  in  1428  was  miracul- 
ous; and  the  dream  of  Cyrus  that  he  saw  the  eldest  son  of 
Hystaspes  with  wings  overspreading  Europe  and  Asia  was  pro- 
phetic. But  we  know  of  no  creed  that  has  been  founded  or  doc- 
trine that  is  authenticated  on  such  data.  We  are  credibly  in- 
formed in  recent  history,  that  in  the  year  1682  one  of  the  most 
licentious  rakes  who  ever  dominated  and  debased  a  government, 
performed  the  rite  of  laying  on  hands  to  cure  scrofula  eight 
thousand  five  hundred  times,  and  that  the  ablest  men  of  his 
time  solemnly  professed  their  faith  in  his  miraculous  power,  and 
their  belief  that  any  failure  was  due  solely  to  a  want  of  faith  on 
the  part  of  the  afflicted. 

We  are  not  informed  what  it  is  which  distinguishes  these 
phenomena  from  the  events,  visions,  and  prophecy  recorded  in 


EPIC    APOLOGETICS.  75 

Holy  Writ;  and  to  the  popular  mind  there  is  more  difference  in 
the  media  by  which  they  are  respectively  commemorated,  than 
there  is  in  the  phenomena  themselves.  That  they  cannot  be 
understood  ought  not  to  deter  a  thrifty  zealot  from  utilizing 
one  kind  as  v^ell  a,s  another  in  promulgating  some  fanciful 
faith,  if  eternal  Providence  is  in  need  of  human  assertion  and 
justification,  if  its  credit  is  on  the  decline,  here  are  some  unused 
phenomena  inscrutable,  from  vyhich  something  might  be 
proved  if  some  great  genius  should  go  into  the  appropriate 
ecstasy,  and  evolve  the  scheme  to  which,  or  to  some  part  of 
which,  they  might  be  made  to  appear  apposite. 

Instead  of  assuming  to  help  Heaven  out  of  a  supposed  dif- 
ficulty, it  were  better,  at  least  it  were  in  better  taste,  to  candid- 
ly admit  that  eternal  Providence  is  eternally  too  much  for  our 
comprehension.  The  inward  monitor  that  approves  virtue  and 
eschews  vice,  according  to  the  generally  accepted  standards  of 
right  and  wrong,  is  probably  the  most  efficient  promoter  of 
civilization  and  its  essential  concomitant — good  life.  Fear  for 
personal  safety  may  emphasize  the  zeal  with  which  the  good 
{?)  are  sedulously  laboring  to  make  the  world  better.  But 
when  poetry  becomes  philosophical  and  attempts  in  Eolean 
strains  to  tell  us  all  about  how  and  why  the  Almighty  has  done 
thus  and  so.  it  finds  itself  involved  in  interminable  discord. 
When  evil  is  shunned  because  it  is  abhorred ;  when  good  is 
done  for  its  own  sake ;  the  conduct  will  be  more  acceptable  to 
Him  to  whom  we  instinctively  ascribe  every  perfection,  than 
when  it  is  exacted  under  the  intimidation  of  frightful  ghost 
stories  and  the  menaces  of  divine  wrath.  Self-respect  is  not 
necessarily  self-conceit.  Yet,  to  avoid  the  imputation  of  pusil- 
lanimity in  the  creature  submitting  under  the  denunciation  of 
damnation,  the  Creator  condescends  to  confer  upon  the  creature 
he  has  created  and  cursed,  the  privilege  of  transforming  the 
curse  into  a  blessing,  on  terms  which  it  was  already  known 
the  creature  would  reject;  and  negotiating  with  him  as  with  a 
responsible  equal,  the  terms  upon  which  divine  wrath  might  be 
changed  to  divine  love.  An  infinitely  wise  and  powerful  Cre- 
ator, creates  a  creature  in  a  certain  manner,  knowing  from  all 
eternity  that  such  creature  will  provoke  Him  to  wrath  and  be 


76  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

damned  for  his  temerity;  and  the  world  is  flooded  with  learned 
nonsense  on  the  purpose  and  plan  of  the  Creator  in  such  cre- 
ation. 

The  observation  and  experience  of  man  teach  that  something 
within  admonishes  and  ever  hath  admonished  that  he  is  the 
creature  of  some  Power  infinitely  above  him,  and  beyond  the 
possibility  of  his  comprehension,  it  is  audacious  and  absurd 
to  speak  of  the  Power  in  terms  of  affected  familiarity,  when  the 
mind  staggers  at  the  thought  of  any  one  of  its  attributes.  No 
human  mind  ever  existed  that  could  conceive  of  omnipresence, 
nor  of  the  immensitv  of  the  space  occupied  by  the  Omnipresent. 
The  mind  which  is  inadequate  to  such  a  thought  certainly  has 
no  business  with  the  purposes  or  plans,  of  the  divine  Architect, 
who,  by  analogy  may  be  supposed  to  be  infinitely  more  super- 
ior to  the  work  of  his  hands,  than  the  Sculptor  to  the  lifeless 
marble. 

The  difference  between  Polytheism  and  Monotheism,  indeed 
between  any  of  the  isms,  is  of  little  importance  when  environ- 
ment and  educational  prejudices  are  considered.  The  test  of 
character  is  sincerity,  and  the  object  of  religion  is  rectitude. 
Individual  salvation  and  damnation  as  results  of  merit  and  de- 
merit cannot  be  woven  into  any  system  or  scheme  of  which 
the  mind  can  conceive;  and  if  either  is  to  any  extent  a  matter 
of  grace  or  of  wrath,  the  whole  subject  is  at  Sea,  and  no  argu- 
ment of  any  kind  can  be  intelligibly  applied  to  it.  it  would 
be  a  singular  sort  of  grace  that  damns  a  world  to  create  the 
occasion  to  save  here  and  there  an  individual  out  of  its  perish- 
ing multitude. 

In  the  domain  of  physical  phenomena  we  think  we  see  a 
perfect  system.  Nothing  appears  to  depend  upon  a  capricious 
favor  or  grace — nothing  appears  to  go  slipshod  here.  The 
tides  and  the  seasons,  growths  and  decays,  recur  with  appar- 
ently unvarying,  almost  monotonous  regularity ;  and  gravita- 
tion still  tends  its  subjects  toward  the  great  centers.  Matter  is 
still  within  the  jurisdiction  and  control  of  its  Great  Author, 
who  from  all  eternity  hath  kept,  and  to  all  eternity  will  keep 
the  rotations  of  the  Systems  in  accord  with  the  Music  of  the 
Spheres. 


EPIC    APOLOGETICS.  77 

Neither  Mind  nor  Matter  can  be  understood  by  any  human 
mind.  But,  if  they  are  distinct  entities,  it  seems  that  Mind 
would  be  of  at  least  equal,  if  not  of  greater  importance  to  the 
Creator  of  both.  When  Lucifer,  the  Lord's  whilom  lieutenant, 
was  hurled  from  Heaven  to  Hell  and  had  sworn  eternal  ven- 
geance, he  might  have  interfered  in  some  way  with  the  order 
pervading  the  material  universe.  Man  was  not  yet  created, 
and  the  Rebel  has  evinced  no  such  magnanimity  as  to  raise  the 
suspicion  that  he  would  slight  an  opportunity  for  revenge. 
He  may  have  waited  for  a  more  favorable,  and,  to  his  diaboli- 
cal instincts,  a  more  agreeable  opportunity;  knowing  perhaps 
that  man  with  mind  was  to  be  created  for  the  glory  of  the 
Creator  and  to  repair  the  detriment  of  his. defection,  and  that 
ninety-nine  of  every  hundred  were  to  become  his  victims.  If 
so,  he  must  have  regarded  the  Lord  a  very  obliging  enemy. 
Or,  his  power  may  not  have  been  so  effective  against  the  ma- 
terial universe  as  against  the  contemplated  town  of  Mansoul, 
to  be  erected  and  garrisoned  against  him  by  the  same  Power 
which  had  "hurled  him  through  the  deep  into  his  place." 
Mind,  the  soul  of  Man,  created  for  the  glory  of  the  Creator,  the 
last,  the  greatest  and  dearest  of  all  His  works,  and  yet  the  only 
one  made  vulnerable  to  the  attacks  of  the  recalcitrant  rebel! 
The  Power  that  created  the  human  mind  in  the  beginning  ap- 
pears to  have  directed  its  trend  for  futurity.  It  may  not  be 
absolutely  enslaved,  but  if  it  works  in  accordance  with  a  plan 
devised  for  it  before  its  creation,  all  the  poetical  philosophy  that 
can  possibly  be  written,  can  never  give  color  to  the  idea  of  indi- 
vidual responsibility  and  duty.  And  the  ways  of  such  Provi- 
dence to  man  cannot  be  justified  in  reason,  because  they  can- 
not be  understood. 

Fanatics  frequently  accuse  of  atheism,  those  whose  manli- 
ness spurns  the  solicitous  authority  of  their  superstitions.  One 
of  the  greatest  historians,  and  one  who  is  frequently  charged 
with  atheism,  has  paid  to  Christianity,  one  of  the  highest  tri- 
butes it  ever  received  in  either  history  or  philosophy.  Coming 
from  such  source  it  alTirms  more  in  one  brief  paragraph  than  is 
argued  in  the  three  hundred  pages  of  rhapsody  under  consid- 
eration.    He  says,  "A  candid  but  rational  inquiry  into  the  pro- 


78  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

gress  and  establishment  of  Christianity  mav  be  considered  as  a 
very  essential  part  of  the  history  of  the  Roman  Empire.  While 
that  great  body  was  invaded  by  open  violence,  or  undermined 
by  slow  decay,  a  pure  and  humble  religion  gently  insinuated 
itself  into  the  minds  of  men,  grew  up  in  silence  and  obscurity, 
derived  new  vigor  from  opposition,  and  finally  erected  the 
triumphant  banner  of  the  Cross  on  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol." 

A  parish  priest  of  the  EstablisJied  Church  has  edited  the 
philosophical  history  written  by  this  great  master  of  thought 
and  language,  and  he  petulantly  complains  that,  "Christianity 
alone  receives  no  embellishment  from  the  magic  of  Gibbon's 
language ;  his  imagination  is  dead  to  its  moral  dignity ;  it  is 
kept  down  by  a  g.eneral  tone  of  jealous  disparagement,  or 
neutralized  by  a  painfully  elaborated  exposition  of  its  darker 
and  degenerate  periods."  It  may  be  presumed  that  the  priest 
was  acquainted  with  the  history  or  he  would  not  have  assumed 
to  edit  it.  in  such  case  the  malignity  of  his  stricture  is  not 
mitigated  or  excused  by  its  veracity.  The  historian  was  no 
enthusiast,  and  it  seems  not  to  have  occurred  to  him  that  he 
might  ingratiate  himself  in  divine  favor  either  by  suppressing 
the  truth,  or  by  positively  lying.  His  logic  may  have  restrain- 
ed him  from  a  futile  attempt  to  embellish  that  which,  if  it  is 
what  it  purports  to  be,  is  above  and  beyond  embellishment. 
If  he  noted  the  faults  of  professed  Christians,  his  logic  may  have 
rejected  the  idea  that  real  Christians  have  faults,  if,  however, 
they  have  faults,  forming  factors  in  history,  his  candor  may  have 
forbidden  him  to  whitewash  or  disguise  them,  even  in  the  in- 
terest of  Christianity.  Perhaps  he  thought  so  holy  a  cause 
would  not  countenance  even  its  own  advancement  by  the  per- 
petration of  a  pious  fraud,  if  his  imagination  was  dead  to  the 
moral  dignity  of  Christianity,  he  may  not  have  regarded  Chris- 
tianity so  much  a  matter  of  imagination  as  the  philosophy  of 
some  of  its  apologists  would  make  it  appear. 

in  spite  of  its  exhibition  of  ill  nature,  the  stricture  is  a  com- 
pliment to  the  candor  of  the  historian,  the  main  objection  to 
whom  is,  he  would  tell  the  truth.  If  he  kept  Christianity 
down  "by  a  general  tone  of  jealous  disparagement,"  his  method 
was  at  least  a  strange  one.     He  says,  "Our  curiosity  is  natur- 


EPIC    APOLOGETICS.  79 

ally  prompted  to  inquire  by  what  means  the  Christian  faith  ob- 
tained so  remarkable  a  victory  over  the  established  religions  of 
the  earth.  To  this  inquiry  an  obvious  but  satisfactory  answer 
may  be  returned ;  that  it  was  owing  to  the  convincing  evidence 
of  the  doctrine  itself,  and  to  the  ruling  providence  of  its  great 
Author."  And  yet  the  enthusiast  says,  "the  divine  origin  of 
the  religion  is  dexterously  eluded,  or  speciouslv  conceded." 
it  is  true  he  did  not  attempt  to  justify  or  palliate  the  canting 
hypocrisy  and  fanaticism  which,  in  the  guise  of  Christianity  at 
times  became  the  scourge  and  reproach  of  mankind;  nor  did 
he  attempt  to  justify  the  doctrine  of  the  system  on  crudely  im- 
provised principles  which  were  incompatible  with  universal  ex- 
perience and  observation,  and  repugnant  to  the  universal  sense 
of  justice  and  idea  of  utility.  He  mav  have  thought  he  found 
it  an  established  self-evident  fact.  He  left  it  just  where,  and 
just  as  he  found  it;  and  for  the  good  of  the  cause  and  of  man- 
kind, it  were  better  its  zealots  and  apologists  had  followed  his 
example. 

In  the  estimation  of  the  fervid  enthusiast,  the  man  whose 
manliness  spurns  fanaticism  and  superstition  is  a  skeptic,  an 
intldel,  an  atheist.  If  the  doctrines  of  the  apologists  had  to  be 
accepted  as  the  philosophy  of  Christanitv,  atheism  would  keep 
pace  with  the  manliness  and  intelligence  of  the  race.  In  the 
Paradise  Lost  one  thing  is  achieved.  The  fame  of  the  Bard,  if 
not  of  the  Philosopher,  is  fixed.  How  badly  it  is  marred,  and 
how  unsightly  the  poetry  is  made  by  fanatical  and  fallacious 
philosophizing,  are  questions  depending  in  some  measure  upon 
the  development  of  candid  discrimination  and  manly  indpen- 
dence  in  both  relitrion  and  literature. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

DIVINE    DISPENSATION    VINDICATED    IN    POETICAL    PHILOSOPHY. 

Prologue  to  Essay  On  Man  Assumes  Marvelous  Wisdom  of  Poet — Dissimula- 
tion as  to  integrity  of  Purpose — Providential  Plan  a  Confusion — Vindication 
Necessarily  Illogical — To  Reason  About  Providence  From  what  we  Know 
is  to  Reason  From  Nothing — Necessity  of  Man  to  System  a  Groundless  As- 
sumption— Coherency  of  System — Freedom  and  Fatalism  Irreconcilable — 
If  Whatever  Is  is  Right  Man's  Errors  are  Right — The  Ways  of  Providence 
Must  be  Known  Before  They  Can  be  Vindicated — All  Knowlege  is  Acquir- 
ed— Conditions  Must  be  Unknown — Poetry  May  Flourish  in  Metaphysics 
— Taine's  strictures  on  the  Poet — Foul  Blots  on  the  Poetry  of  the  Essay — 
Indefniite  Purpose  and  Ambition  of  the  Poet. 

In   1752  one  of  the  greatest  Poets  who  ever  attempted  to 
promulgate  a  poetical  philosophy  awoke  his  St.  John  to 

"  «  *  *  leave  all  meaner  things 

To  low  ambition  and  the  pride  of  Kings. 

Let  us  (since  life  can  little  more  supply 

Than  just  look  about  us  and  to  die) 

Expatiate  free  o'er  all  this  scene  of  Man; 

A  mighty  maze:  but  not  without  a  plan; 

A  wild,  where  weeds  and  flowers  promiscuous  shoot, 

Or  garden  tempting  with  forbidden  fruit. 

Laugh  where  we  must,  be  candid  where  we  can; 
But  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man." 

This  is  a  distinct  declaration  of  a  purpose  to  treat  philo- 
sophically of  the  relations  supposed  to  exist  between  man  and 
his  Maker,  including  his  moral  attributes  and  characteristics, 
his  appropriate  place  and  sphere  in  nature,  and  the  divine  pur- 
pose in  his  creation  and  environment.  The  announcement, 
with  an  assurance  truly  admirable,  claims  for  the  philosopher  a 
kind  and  degree  of  wisdom  which  is  marvellous,  infinitely 
transcending  all  our  reasonable  expectations  of  a  mere  man. 
It  is  also  prefaced  by  what  is  meant  as  a  voucher  for  all  the 
knowledge  necessary  to  enable  him  to  advise  his  fellow  mortals, 
and  even  his  Maker,  of  the  plan  and  purpose  of  Providence,  so 
far  as  it  concerns  mankind.  He  says— "Having  proposed  to 
write  some  pieces  on  human  life  and  manners,  such  as  (to  use 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.         8  I 

my  Lord  Bacon's  expression)  come  home  to  men's  business  and 
bosoms,  I  thought  it  more  satisfactory  to  begin  with  consider- 
ing man  in  the  abstract,  his  nature  and  state ;  since  to  prove 
any  moral  duty,  to  enforce  any  moral  precept,  or  to  examine 
the  perfection  or  imperfection  of  any  creature  whatsoever,  it  is 
necessary  first  to  know  what  condition  and  relation  it  is  placed 
in,  and  what  is  the  proper  end  and  purpose  of  its  being."  If 
he  knew  all  this,  and  he  was  pledged  to  the  proposition  that  he 
did,  he  was  eminently  qualified  to  teach  the  doctrine  and  im- 
part the  information.  As  he  was  further  pledged  to  be  candid 
where  he  could,  the  manner  in  which  he  has  dealt  with  the 
subject,  and  the  actual  result  of  his  reasoning,  will  disclose 
what  if  anything  he  really  knew  about  it. 

It  is  an  elementary  principle  in  moral  philosophy  that  there 
can  be  no  duty  where  there  is  no  choice.  In  such  case  the  per- 
formance whatever  it  may  be  is  done,  if  not  automatically,  yet, 
in  fulfillment  or  discharge  of  a  function,  and  not  as  a  duty. 
Choice,  to  rise  to  the  dignity  of  the  name,  must  be  an  option  to 
do  or  forbear;  it  must  be  absolute,  not  only  unfettered,  but  un- 
prejudiced by  any  natural  bent  for  which  the  individual  is  not 
directly  and  wholly  responsible.  The  tact  that  the  vindication 
is  written  is  equivalent  to  a  declaration  of  the  free-agency  of 
man,  that  he  is  possessed  of  a  discerning  and  choosing  mind 
which  is  to  be  convinced  by  appropriate  reasoning,  and  that  he 
is  to  be  held  liable  for  failure  in  duty  and  not  in  function. 

The  above  exordium  is  a  bad  start  for  a  treatise  assuming 
the  airs  and  proportions  of  a  doctrine  in  morals,  or  statement  of 
a  scheme  in  nature,  or  of  the  purpose  of  Providence,  or  of  the 
relation  in  which  man  is  placed.  The  first  requisite  in  such  an 
undertaking  is  consistency,  without  which  it  will  itself  become 

"A  wilJ  where  weeds  and  flowers  promiscuous  shoot." 

Without  descending  to  captious  objections  on  account  of 
mere  verbal  inaccuracies,  such  as  appear  in  the  above  prefatory 
promise,  there  is  sufficient  ground  for  valid  objection  to  the 
substance  of  the  general  statement  of  the  dilemma  as  couched 
in  various  parts  of  the  poem.  Weeds  and  fiowers  (evil  and 
good)  are  not  likely  to  shoot  promiscuously  in  any  well  arrang- 


82  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ed  plan  of  tl-ie  Almighty,  nor  can  such  plan  be  a  wild,  if  the 
scene  of  man  is  planned  at  all  it  is  very  badly  planned,  if  it  is  a 
garden  tempting  with  forbidden  fruit,  unless  man  is  absolutely 
free  from  fate  and  wholly  responsible  for  all  the  consequences 
of  his  inherited  and  inherent  qualities  and  propensities.  He 
cannot  understand  why  he  should  be  tempted  unless  it  is  to  in- 
sure his  ruin.  If  it  is  to  test  his  fortitude,  he  cannot  under- 
stand that  it  is  really  his  fortitude ;  he  does  not  know  what  he 
ever  had  to  do  or  say  in  the  acquisition  thereof,  or  of  his  sus- 
ceptibility to  temptation.  He  finds  himself  endowed  and  en- 
vironed by  some  power  which  has  never  deigned  to  consult 
him,  and  if  he  had  been  consulted,  he  cannot  understand  how 
he  would  have  been  called  upon  to  exercise  any  other  than  the 
faculties  with  which  he  is  so  endowed,  to  express  the  choice  to 
which  such  faculties  and  his  native  tendencies  incline  him.  He 
cannot  understand  how  he  is  to  be  improved  by  anything  like 
moral  instruction,  unless  he  is  able  to  accept  or  reject  the  doc- 
trine according  to  his  own  judgment  and  of  his  own  choice, 
in  the  formation  of  such  judgment  and  exercise  of  such  choice, 
he  cannot  understand  that  he  is  actuated^by  any  other  than  the 
faculties  and  propensities  with  which  he  is  endowed  by  the 
Power  which  has  made  and  environed  him. 

Proceeding  as  the  above  quotations  authorize  one  to  do,  to 
examine  the  vindication  on  the  hypothesis  that  its  author  knew 
(or  claimed  he  knew)  and  understood' man's  sphere  in  nature, 
his  relation  to  his  Maker,  and  the  proper  end  and  purpose  of 
his  being,  one  v/iil  bepuzzled  at  the  dissimulation  of  design 
apparent  in  the  last  couplet  of  the  above  quoted  exordium;  "be 
candid  where  we  can,  but  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man." 
A  fond  father  once  started  his  hopeful  son  out  into  the  world 
with  the  admonition  to  make  money,  "make  it  honestly  if  you 
can,  but  make  money."  A  devout  worshipper  would  not  like  to 
think  that  his  God  wants  a  vindication  on  such  terms,  or  at  all 
events.  To  say  the  couplet  was  written  to  round  out  a  period 
or  phrase,  or  to  fill  a  measure,  is  no  co.mpliment  to  one  of  the 
greatest  poets.  There  is  little  of  the  pure  jingle  in  anything 
from  his  pen.  He  seldom  sacrificed  sense  to  sound.  The 
couplet  contains  a  faithful  expression  of  an  unfaithful  purpose— 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.        8^ 

a  determination  to  accomplish  his  end,  candidly  if  he  could, 
but  to  accomplish  it.  If  he  knew  all  he  assumed  to  know, 
there  was  no  occasion  for  verbal  or  mental  reservation  as  to 
the  rectitude  and  philosophic  integrity  of  the  proposed  argu- 
ment. Having  announced  his  ability  and  intent  to  vindicate 
the  ways  of  God  to  man,  he  proceeds  therewith,,  leaving  us 
v/ith  but  little  assurance  of  sincerity  in  the  reasoning  to  be  em- 
ployed, and  when  //  is  tested,  the  announcement  will  appear  to 
be  the  most  striking  exhibition  of  his  candor. 

That  the  Almighty  should  be  vindicated  implies  that  he 
owes  his  creatures  an  apology  or  explanation.  If  he  does,  and 
if  it  is  properly  made  in  the  vindication  in  question,  it  is  done 
somewhat  in  the  spirit  and  manner  of  the  rustic  who  said :  "If 
I  have  done  anything  to  be  sorry  for,  I  am  glad  of  it."  But  if 
infinite  power  and  wisdom  were  brought  by  the  Almighty  to 
his  work  in  the  creation  of  man,  .who  was  made  in  his  own 
image  and  endowed  with  reason  and  some  wisdom,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  imagine  M/hy  he  was  not  gifted  with  sufficient  to  know 
that  the  ways  of  the  Almighty  were  right  and  could  need  no 
vindication.  Man  would  naturally  suppose  that  the  work  of 
infinite  wisdom,  goodness,  and  power,  is  necessarily  perfect. 
If  that  work  was  in  part  the  creation  of  man,  in  which  he  finds 
much  that  is  evil,  his  reasonable  expectations  are  disappointed, 
and  the  entire  subject  is  at  sea.  There  is  then  no  available 
starting  point  from  which  he  can  proceed  to  reason  out  to  an 
intelligible  and  satisfactory  conclusion  concerning  it. 

Unless  the  work  of  the  Almighty  is  imperfect;  left  unfinish- 
ed, to  be  completed  by  an  individual  specimen  of  the  work 
itself,  it  is  decidedly  arrogant  for  man  to  oiter  to  take  it  up 
v/here  He  leaves  it  and  iuiish  it  for  Him.  In  the  prologue  or 
introduction  to  the  vindication,  where  its  object  is  stated,  its 
course  outlined,  and  its  character  foreshadowed,  the  philoso- 
pher is  involved  in  a  labyrinth  of  inconsistency  of  postulation, 
and  insincerity  of  design  so  far  as  concerns  the  attaining  of  his 
object.  And  when  the  argument  is  reached  the  first  postulate 
(which  is  interrogatively  put)  is  another  assumption  of  all  the 
knowledge  necessary  to  enable  the  cognoscente,  by  the  use  of 
the  usual  processes  of  ratiocination,  to  make  clear  and  intelligi- 


84  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ble  to  the  average  mind,  the  whole  system,  scheme,  and  pur- 
pose of  Providence — so  there  is  neither  occasion  nor  excuse  for 
dissimulation  in  stating  the  purpose,  or  confusion  in  stating  the 
dilemma. 

"Say  first,  of  God  above,  or  man  below, 

What  can  we  reason,  but  from  what  we  know? 

Of  man,  what  see  we  but  his  station  here 

From  which  to  reason  or  to  which  refer  ? 

Thro'  World's  unnumbered  tho'  the  God  be  known, 

'Tis  ours  to  trace  Him  only  in  our  own. 

********* 
Of  systems  possible,  if  'tis  confest 
That  wisdom  infinite  must  form  the  best, 
Where  all  must  full  or  not  coherent  be, 
And  all  that  rises,  rise  in  due  degree; 
Then  in  the  scale  of  reasoning  life  "tis  plain. 
There  must  be  somewhere  such  a  rank  as  man; 
And  all  the  question  (wrangle  e'er  so  long) 
Is  only  this,  if  God  has  placed  him  wrong  ? 
Respecting  man,  whatever  wrong  we  call, 
May,  must  be  right,  as  relative  to  all." 

If  the  doctrine  of  the  last  couplet  is  true,  there  can  be  no 
question  as  to  whether  God  has  placed  man  wrong.  If  it  is 
not  true,  the  basis  goes  from  under  the  entire  argument.  If 
the  only  question  is,  whether  God  has  placed  man  wrong, 
there  can  be  no  other  to  argue.  If  whatever  respecting  man 
we  call  wrong,  must  as  relative  to  all  be  right,  he  cannot  be 
placed  wrong,  and  there  is  no  question  whatever  to  argue. 
There  is  however  a  very  bold  assertion,  and  perhaps  it  is  the 
purpose  of  the  piece  to  fortify  and  sustain  it  by  reasoning;  and 
it  appears  to  be  the  philosopher's  idea  that  such  reasoning 

'<  *  *  *     must  full  or  not  coherent  be." 

Unless  the  reasoning  is  both  full  and  coherent,  this  is  a 
singular  dilemma  to  get  into  at  the  beginning  of  a  learned  and 
elaborate  philosophical  discussion.  What  is  it  which  makes  it 
plain  that  there  must  be  somewhere  such  a  rank  as  man  }  is 
it  because  all  that  rises  must  rise  in  due  degree  '?  What  is  due 
degree  ?  What  is  next  to  man  in  the  descending  scale  }  What 
is  next  above  him  }  How  many  degrees  from  man  to  the 
Almighty  ?    How  many  from  man  to  the  mollusk  ?     Unless 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.       85 

the  degrees  are  known,  how  may  it  be  known  whether  they 
are  due  ?  If  all  must  full  or  not  coherent  be,  what  is  the  nec- 
essary consequence  of  the  extinction  of  the  myriads  of  species 
whose  fossil  foot  prints  on  the  shores  and  shelves  of  time,  are 
the  only  (yet  conclusive)  evidence  of  their  having  sometime 
occupied  a  place  (degree)  in  the  system  ?  To  what  other 
species  or  degree  is  man  necessary  ?  How  is  he  necessary  to 
the  system,  or  to  any  part  of  it  ?  Is  it  that  the  system  may  be 
full,  coherent,  and  rise  in  due  degree  from  the  mollusk  to  the 
Maker  ?  Is  not  the  system  still  coherent,  notwithstanding  the 
known  extinction  of  many  species  having  once  occupied  as 
many  places  or  degrees  ?  It  cannot  still  be  full.  What  and 
how  many  species  in  the  ascending  scale,  between  man  and 
his  Maker  have  become  extinct  ?  Does  not  the  rule  work  both 
ways  ?  Are  we  to  argue  that  none  have,  simply  because  we 
find  none  of  their  fossil  ?  Have  we  found  all  there  is  to  be 
known  ?  How  do  we  know  the  present  existence  of  the  in- 
termediate degrees  in  the  ascending  scale  ?  Are  we  to  reason 
that  there  are  such,  because  from  what  we  know,  there  are  in- 
termediate degrees  in  the  descending  scale.?  If  so,  we  may 
plausibly  proceed  and  reason  from  what  we  know  of  the  ex- 
tinction of  several  species  in  the  one,  that  some  species  in  the 
other  scale  have  also  become  extinct. 

This  would  be  tracing  Him  only  in  our  own,  and  reasoning 
from  what  we  know,  with  as  much  plausibility  as  to  reason 
and  infer  the  existence  of  the  Almighty  himself  from  anything 
we  know. 

It  seems  to  be  a  stolid  sort  of  philosophy,  that  extracts  com- 
fort or  consolation  from  the  dispensation  that  endows  man  with 
an  insatiable  curiosity,  and  then  mysteriously  veils  from  him 
the  sight  of  the  object  of  his  deepest  solicitude.  It  requires  as 
much  ingenuity  in  reasoning  to  show  that  this  is  really  prefer- 
able, as  it  would  to  ascertain  (if  it  can  be  done  by  reasoning) 
what  it  is  that  is  kindly  kept  from  his  eager  eyes. 

"Oh  blindness  to  the  future  !     Kindly  given, 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle  marked  by  Heaven; 
Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 
A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 


86  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurled, 

And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world." 

If  we  can  reason  of  God  and  man  only  from  what  we  know, 
it  seems  a  difficult  undertaking  to  attempt  to  show  of  the 
former  that  He  is  no  more  concerned  in  the  fall  of  a  hero  than 
of  a  sparrow,  in  the  ruin  of  a  system  than  of  an  atom,  or  in 
the  bursting  of  a  world  than  of  a  bubble.  To  carry  conviction 
such  assertion  should  be  enforced  by  the  statement  of  some 
fact  known  and  reasoned  from;  and  the  philosopher  interroga- 
tively predicates  his  reasoning  on  what  he  knows.  If  it  is  ours 
to  trace  Him  only  in  our  own  world,  we  can.  know  nothing  of 
the  Almighty.  How  are  we  to  know  anything  of  Him  ?  Not 
from  any  palpable  demonstration  certainly.  All  alleged  mani- 
festations of  everything  divine,  have  ever  been,  and  in  all  prob- 
ability will  ever  be,  interpreted  as  variously  as  the  several 
faiths  and  creeds  of  their  several  beholders.  If  we  are  to  reason 
upon  the  subject  of  the  concern  or  indifference  of  the  Almighty 
in  regard  to  such  catastrophes  only  from  what  we  know,  it  is 
clear  that  unless  we  know  He  is  in  some  measure  affected  as 
man,  we  are  to  reason  from  nothing.  Unless  the  philosopher 
knew  He  was  so  affected,  the  vindication  becomes  a  contra- 
diction of  the  very  postulate  upon  which  the  argument  is 
based.  What  affection  or  characteristic  in  any  creature  do  we 
know  of,  from  which  to  reason  that  such  indifference  is  attri- 
butable to  the  Almighty  .^  If  it  is  ours  to  trace  Him  only  in 
our  own,  how  are  we  to  know  that  in  all,  or  any,  of  His  attri- 
butes He  is  to  be  characterized  by  divine  perfection  and  good- 
ness ?  Do  we  not  in  our  own,  see  more  of  evil  than  good  ? 
How  are  we  to  know  that,  as  relative  to  all,  this  not  only  may, 
but  must  be  right  ?  If,  as  an  eminent  psychologist  has  said, 
"  *  *  *  as  we  can  only  prove  by  means  of  premises  we 
must  at  length  come  to  premises  which  cannot  be  proven,  and 
which  must  be  assumed  as  being  either  primitive  cognitions  or 
primitive  faiths;"  and  if  the  necessary  sequence  to  such  premise 
is  the  doctrine  reasoned  out  and  deduced  therefrom,  why  not 
assume  the  whole  matter  in  controversy  at  the  beginning  ?  If 
the  entire  structure  is  based  on  assumptions,  either  of  primitive 
cognition  or  of  primitive  faith,  what  is  the  doctrine  itself  but 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.       87 

assumption  ?  Philosophical  apologists  tell  us  we  must  have 
faith — in  what  ?  Why  in  this  instance,  in  the  Being  we  are 
only  to  trace  in  our  own  world;  and  then  the  philosopher  pro- 
ceeds to  portray  Him  in  all  respects  as  unlike  any  thing  we 
know  of,  as  light  is  unlike  darkness.  Where  is  the  evidence 
which  convinces  the  judgment  .^  Whence  the  information  by 
which  we  know  the  fiicts  ?  We  are. only  to  reason  from  what 
we  know;  now  on  that,  or  any  kindred  subject  what  do  we 
know  ?  and  hov/  ?  We  know  in  some  instances  what  we 
regard  reasonable  and  right;  but  do  we  know  zvhy  we  so 
regard  it  ?  Is  it  within  any  instinct  or  feeling  we  know  of,,  for 
it  to  be  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  a  bubble  or  a  world 
burst  ?  We  /;nozc  it  is  not.  If  it  is  ours  to  trace  Him  only  in 
our  own,  how  can  we  attribute  such  indifference  to  Him  ? 
For  all  we  know  He  may  be  so  indifferent,  but  are  we  not 
reasoning  against,  instead  of  from  what  we  know,  to  argue 
that  He  is  ?  Could  such  things  be  viewed  with  equal  eye 
(concern)  by  any  intelligent  and  reasonable  being  ?  Or  is  the 
God  whose  ways  to  man  are  being-vindicated,  an  unreasonable 
Being  ?  What  do  we  know,  or  what  can  we  trace  in  our  own, 
from  which  to  reason  that  He  is  ?  To  argue  that  He  beholds 
such  catastrophes  with  equal  eye,  is  to  argue  that  He  is  not  in 
any  manner  affected  by,  or  concerned  in  them. 

Concern  is  a  comparative  or  relative  quantity  or  affection, 
and  to  be  capable  of  it  one  must  necessarily  be  susceptible  to 
the  deeper  or  more  intense  concern  in  the  greater,  than  in  the 
lesser  catastrophe.  This  is  unquestionably  the  experience  and 
observation  of  all  (we  call)  reasonable  creatures,  and  the  phil- 
osopher says  it  is  ours  to  trace  Him  only  in  our  own,  and  to 
reason  only  from  what  we  knozv.  If  concern  is  not  character- 
ized by  susceptibility  to  various  degrees  of  intensity,  then  all 
reasoning  is  idle,  and  there  remains  not  even  a  poor  apology 
for  the  vindication. 

What  reason  have  we  to  suppose  that  blindness  to  the 
future  was  kiiuily  given  }  That  otherwise  each  would  not  fill 
the  circle  marked  by  Heaven  .?  Is  not  the  vindication  itself  a 
protest  against  the  propriety  of  such  a  dispensation  }  If  such 
blindness  is  kindly  given,  is  it  not  ingratitude  to  be  prying  in- 


88  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

to  the  future,  and  neutralizing  the  effects  of  such  kindness  by 
telling  mankind  what  one  sees  there  ?  Does  not  the  vindica- 
tion involve  a  prophetic  forecast  of  human  destiny  ? 

"So  man,  who  here  seems  principal  alone, 
Perhaps  acts  second  to  some  sphere  unknown. 
Touches  some  wheel,  or  verges  to  some  goal; 
*        *        *        *        -X-         *        -K-         *         *         * 

The  soul  uneasy  and  confined,  from  home, 
Rests  and  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come. 
*•»****      ***       * 

If  to  be  perfect  in  a  certain  sphere 

What  matter,  soon  or  late,  or  here  or  there  ? 

********** 

Submit. — In  this,  or  any  other  sphere, 
Secure  to  be  as  blest  as  thou  canst  bear." 

This  is  an  incongruous  commingling  of  the  elements  of 
prophecy  and  declaration ;  prophetic  of  everything  except  ulti- 
mate bliss,  and  certainty  of  that,  no  matter  what  the  denoue- 
ment. If  the  future  state  or  condition  is  itself  problematical, 
how  can  its  happiness  be  a  certainty  ?" 

"    *  *  X     nothing  stands  alone; 

The  chain  holds  on,  and  where  it  ends  unknown." 

Is  it  to  be  reasoned  out  to  a  moral  certainty  from  anything 
we  know  ?  Is  it  the  necessary  result  of  the  progress  of  man- 
kind .''  If  man  was  originally  perfect  and  happy,  his  progress 
seems  to  have  been  the  other  way.  Perhaps  different  influ- 
ences are  at  work  now.  But  what  are  they  ?  When  did  they 
begin  ?  At  what  period  has  the  ratio  of  wretchedness  to  bliss, 
present  or  prospective,  been  greater  than  it  is  now  ?  What 
has  reduced  it  ?     Was  it  the 

"     *  w  *     Christian's  thirst  for  gold  ?" 

To  be  philosophical  a  treatise  should  contain  a  doctrine, 
and  have  a  purpose  which  could  be  discerned  in  its  perusal. 
There  should  be  an  end  in  view,  an  object  to  be  accomplished 
by  its  teaching.  It  should  proceed  upon  a  definite,  distinct, 
and  an  intelligible  theory,  and  consistently  adhere  to  it.  How 
is  it  with  the  vindication  in  question  ?  What  is  its  object  ? 
How  are  we  to  ascertain  it  ?    It  is  broadly  asserted  to  be,  to 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.        89 

vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man.  But  the  name  or  avowed 
purpose  has  little,  if  anything,  to  do  with  determining  the 
character  of  or  classifying  a  pleading.  This  must  be  ascer- 
tained from  its  substance;  it  must  be  determined  from  its  gen- 
eral scope  and  tenor. 

In  vindicating  the  ways  of  God  to  man,  so  as  to  convince 
the  judgment  of  persons  not  assuming  the  infinite  wisdom 
essential  to  know  and  understand  the  ways  themselves,  what 
should  be  first  done  ?  Should  they  not  first  be  made  known 
and  understood  ?  Would  not  a  mere  statement  of  them,  if  one 
were  sufficiently  wise  and  candid  to  make  it  correctly,  be  their 
complete  vindication  ?  If  man  is  reasonable  and  capable  of 
correct  judgment,  and,  if  the  Almighty  is  infinitely  powerful, 
wise,  and  good,  it  certainly  would  be.  If  man  is  not  reason- 
able and  capable  of  correct  judgment  it  is  waste  of  time  trying 
to  convince  him  of  anything,  or  to  vindicate  anything  to  him. 
If  God  is  infinitely  powerful  He  can  do  just  as  He  desires.  If 
He  is  infinitely  wise  He  need  make  no  mistakes.  If  He  is  in- 
finitely good  He  will  not  do  anything  wrong.  Then  a  mere 
statement  of  His  ways  to  man,  if  understood,  would  be  their 
vindication.  Man  cannot  understand  their  vindication  more 
readily  or  more  easily  than  he  can  understand  the  ways  them- 
selves. If  he  cannot  comprehend  and  understand  the  ways, 
he  cannot  know  when  they  are  vindicated  in  argument  or 
philosophy.  And  no  one  knows  what  they  are,  or  understands 
them.  Many  different  views  or  theories  as  to  what  they  are 
prevail  to-day.  Where  such  several  views  and  theories  con- 
flict, which  are  right  and  which  are  wrong  ?  How  is  this 
question  to  be  settled  ?  Is  it  to  be  done  by  reasoning  ?  If  so, 
from  what  are  we  to  reason  ?  If  we  are  to  reason  only  from 
what  we  know,  what  is  it  we  know,  from  which  to  deduce 
the  correctness  of  any  one  of  such  theories,  and  the  necessary 
fallacy  of  all  others  ? 

We  know  only  what  we  learn,  not  what  we  assume;  and 
the  phrase  "primitive  cognition"  means  nothing.  In  the 
nature  of  things  there  can  be  no  such  cognition.  Whatever  is 
cognized  (known)  must  be  first  learned.  We  learn  in  being 
taught.     We  are  taught  by  others,  and  by  our  own  experience 


go  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

and  observation.  Reason  may  aid  in  the  assimilation,  but  its 
office  is  not  until  a  fact  is  cognized.  And  even  then  what 
assurance  have  we  that  reason  is  so  enlightened  as  to  make  the 
proper  deduction  ?  If,  as  McCosh  has  said,  something  must  be 
assumed  before  the  process  of  reasoning  is  in  order,  what  are 
the  criteria  by  Vv'hich  to  ascertain  the  validity  of  the  assump- 
tion ?  Unless  that  is  known,  how  are  we  to  know  that  the 
reasoning  adopted  is  germain  to  the  assumption  ?  Unless  this 
is  all  known,  what  right  have  we  to  urge  the  validity  of  the 
result.?  To  illustrate,  we  assume  something;  for  instance  that 
"whatever  is,  is  right."  We  then  proceed  by  reasoning  to 
erect  thereon  a  magnificent  Pile,  for  instance,  an  Essay  on  Man. 
But  unfortunately  in  building  it  we  use  material  that  is 
incompatible  with  the  assumption,  for  instance,  the  ideas  that 
the  "scene  of  man"  is 

"A  wild,  where  weeds  and  flowers  promiscuous  shoot, 
Or  garden  tempting  with  forbidden  fruit;"  and  that 
'Mn  pride,  in  reasoning  pride  our  error  lies;" 

and  either  the  assumption  or  the  idea  is  wrong  because  they 
conjlict. 

We  flatter  our  vanity  that  we  may  increase  our  knowledge, 
and  perhaps  wisdom,  by  means  of  our  own  reasoning.  But  if 
of  the  Almighty  we  are  only  to  reason  from  what  we  know, 
we  are  only  to  reason  from  what  we  have  learned,  and  not 
from  what  we  assume,  nor  from  what  we  may  fancy  we  have 
reasoned  into  our  quantum,  of  knowledge  or  wisdom.  We  are 
not  to  spin  out  the  reasoning  process  to  any  such  unreasonable 
length.  The  facts,  the  things  known  and  so  reasoned  from, 
might  not  be  very  reliable.  Their  validity  would  depend  upon 
that  of  some  prior  assumption,  and  the  course  of  reasoning  by 
which  they  were  educed;  and  so  backward  ad  infinitiun.  So 
if  we  are  to  reason  only  from  what  we  know,  it  must  not  be 
from  anything  we  assume,  nor  from  what  we  may  fancy  we 
know  by  means  of  any  inference,  guess,  or  process  of  reason- 
ing. An  eminent  psychologist  has  said,  "  *  *  *  ]f  we  have 
not  knowledge  in  the  premises,  we  are  not  entitled  to  put  it 
into  the  conclusion." 

We  do  not  know  that  the  course  of  nature  includes,  or  in 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.        9  I 

any  manner  or  to  any  extent  consists  of,  or  affects,  or  relates  to, 
the  ways  of  God  to  man.  We  may  very  reasonably  believe 
that  it  does;  but  according  to  the  philosopher  we  must  knoiv, 
not  assume  it,  before- we  start  therefrom  to  vindicate  those  ways 
in  a  process  of  reasoning.  That  which  we  believe  to  be  evil, 
we  cannot  at  the  same  time  know  to  be  good.  As  relative  to 
all  it  may  be  right,  but  unless  we  know  and  understand  the 
relation,  we  cannot  know  it  is  so.  The  philosopher  says  these 
ways  are  right,  that  "whatever  is,  is  right."  To  be  right,  a 
way  must  be  good.  It  cannot  be  right  and  be  evil.  If  the 
Creator  had  created  and  continued  His  creature  in  His  alleged 
primitive  perfect  condition,  it  would  have  been  better  than 
that  which  we  now  know  him  to  be  in. 

An  infinitely  powerful,  wise,  and  good  Creator  could  have 
made  man  perpetually  exempt  from  all  tendency  to  and  liabil- 
ity on  account  of  disease  and  death  and- sin.  If  He  could  not, 
there  must  have  been  a  limit  either  to  His  power  or  to  His 
wisdom.  If  He  could  and  would  not,  there  must  have  been  a 
limit  to  His  goodness — to  man  at  least.  Whatever  is  may  be 
right,  but  we  do  not  know  that  it  is.  We  are  only  to  reason 
from  what  we  know ;  and  we  know  nothing  from  which  to 
reason  that  it  is  right,  and  that  the  Creator  in  His  inhnite  good- 
ness to  His  creature,  created  him,  a  million  to  one,  to  suffer  all 
the  accursed  consequences  of  disease,  and  death,  and  damna- 
tion.    But  the  philosopher  says, 

"Submit: — In  this,  or  any  other  sphere 
Secure  to  be  as  blest  as  thou  canst  bear." 

This  may  be  correct,  but  observation  leads  us  to  believe 
that  man  could  eiufitie  more  blessing  than  we  generally  see 
imposed  upon  him.  If  he  could  not  he  is  not  responsible  for 
the  meagerness  of  his  capacity.  Some  Power  made  and 
equipped  him,  and  blessed  him  with  fatal  tendencies,  with  a 
mind  whose  prime  propensity  is  to  reason  and  rebel,  and  if  he 
is  not  capable  of,  or  susceptible  to,  greater  bliss  than  he  actu- 
ally enjoys,  his  capacity  is  thrust  upon  him  by  the  same  Power 
that  made  and  environed  him.  If,  as  relative  to  all,  whatever 
in  man  we  call  wrong  must  be  right,  then  it  must  be  the  pecu- 
liar relation  of  man  to  all  that  makes  these  ways  right.     What 


92  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

is  that  relation  ?  and  what  is  its  peculiarity  ?  Unless  one  can 
explain  this  he  is  overreaching  himself  to  attempt  to  vindicate 
the  ways  so  made  right.  If  it  were  objected  that  if  man  were 
created  as  an  infinitely  powerful,  wise,  and  good  Creator  cotild 
have  made  him,  there  would  be  no  free  agency,  still  we  know 
nothing  from  which  to  reason  and  infer  the  necessity,  or  even 
propriety,  of  free  agency.  It  is  certainly  not  essential  to,  nor 
compatible  with,  the  fatalism  couched  in  the  following: — 

"As  man,  perhaps  the  moment  of  his  breath, 

Received  the  lurking  principle  of  death; 

The  young  disease  that  must  subdue  at  length, 

Grows  with  his  growth,  and  strengthens  with  his  strength, 

So  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame. 

The  minds  disease,  its  ruling  passion  came. 

********** 

Nature  its  mother,  habit  is  its  nurse, 

Wit,  spirit,  faculties,  but  make  it  worse." 

histead  of  being  a  free  agent,  man  is  born  with  the  fatal 
disease  of  mind  which  must  subdue  at  length,  cast  and  mingled 
with  his  very  frame ;  and  to  aggravate  the  case,  he  is  endowed 
with  the  very  qualifications,  wit,  spirit,  faculties,  which  make 
it  worse.  How  is  he  armed  against  the  consequences  of  these 
fatal  gifts  ?  Unless  that  shall  be  shown,  what  becomes  of  free 
agency }  Unless  there  is  free  agency  and  absolute  freedom 
of  choice,  there  is  no  propriety  in  any  effort  at  moral  instruc- 
tion. The  vindication  thus  appears  to  be  an  effort  to  promul- 
gate two  irreconcilable  doctrines,  free  agency  and  fatalism. 

"In  pride,  in  reasoning  pride,  our  error  lies, 
All  quit  their  spheres,  and  rush  into  the  skies. 

****7r***** 

And  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  reasoning's  spite, 
One  truth  is  clear,  whatever  is,  is  right." 

The  first  of  these  couplets  implies  free  agency.  There  can 
be  no  blameworthy  error  where  there  is  no  choice  whether  one 
will  quit  his  sphere  and  soar  in  the  forbidden  realms  above 
him.  Yet  the  fatalism  unqualifiedly  and  unequivocally  denounc- 
ed in  the  last  couplet,  ought  to  be  sufficient  to  relieve  man  of 
'all  liability  to  censure  for  the  error  of  reasoning  pride  which 
is  mentioned  in  the  first  one.     If  reasoning  pride  is  not  natural 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.        Q  ^ 

to  man,  it  would  be  interesting  to  know  how  he  is  endowed 
with  it.  It  is  said  to  be  the  mind's  disease,  its  ruling  passion, 
the  lurking  principle  of  death,  which  he  receives  the  moment  of 
his  breath,  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame.  If  it  is 
natural  to  him,  it  is  part  of  the  general  order,  to  wish  to  invert 
the  laws  of  which  is  to  sin  against  the  eternal  cause.  If  it  is 
part  of  such  general  order  it  cannot  be  man's  error.  If  it  came 
the  moment  of  his  breath,  and  is  natural  to  him,  and  part  of 
the  general  order,  then  he  who  suppresses  it  in  order  to 
submit, 

"     *  *  *     inverts  the  laws 

Of  order,  sins  against  the  eternal  Cause." 

If  it  is  the  mind's  disease,  its  ruling  passion,  cast  and 
mingled  with  his  very  frame,  and  came  the  moment  of  his 
breath,  it  is  natural.  If  respecting  man  whatever  we  call 
wrong  must  as  relative  to  all  be  right,  and  if  whatever  is  is 
right,  then  this  very  reasoning  pride  is  right,  and  therein  our 
error  does  not  lie. 

If  there  fiuist  be  somewhere  such  a  rank  as  man,  if  man  is 
born  as  perfect  as  he  ought,  if  the  general  order  since  the 
whole  began  is  kept  in  nature  and  is  kept  in  man,  if  man  is 
born  with  a  ruinous  ruling  passion,  of  which  Nature  is  the 
mother  and  habit  the  nurse,  and  with  wit,  spirit,  faculties, 
which  make  it  worse;  then  there  can  be  no  such  free  agency 
as  to  warrant  any  attempt  at  moral  instruction,  or  any  censure 
for  the  alleged  error  in  reasoning  pride.  If  to  reason  right  is  to 
submit,  the  reasoning  of  the  vindication  is  itself  rebellion.  It 
reasons  against  the  ruling  passion  which  it  shows  to  be  a  part 
of  the  general  order. 

If  to  reason  right  is  to  submit,  we  are  cursed  in  the  gift  of 
the  reasoning  faculties  and  propensities.  Then  man  is  not  as 
perfect  as  he  ought.  If  these  faculties  and  propensities  are 
natural  and  part  of  the  general  order,  and  if  we  must  suppress 
them  in  order  to  submit,  then  in  their  suppression  we  rebel 
against  and  subvert  the  laws  of  this  general  order,  and  submis- 
sion itself  becomes  rebellion. 

We  should  not  pretend  to  comprehend  the  ways  of  God  to 
man,  nor  to  know  that  all  that  is,  is  right.     It  may  be,  but  we 


94  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

find  nothing  in  nature  that  may  be  kiiozvn  from  which  to  reason 
that  it  is.  ''hi  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death."  In  our 
boasted  civilization  we  are  in  crime  that  would  disgrace  bar- 
barism. Blood  may  not  flow  so  profusely,  but  the  shrinkage 
in  that  respect  is  compensated  by  wickedness  of  more  heinous, 
corrupt,  and  cowardly  types.  Indeed  this  seems  to  be  the 
general  order,  and  if  it  is  kept  in  nature  and  is  kept  in  man.  if 
plagues  and  earthquakes  break  not  Heaven's  design,  nor  the 
butcheries  of  a  Borgia  or  a  Cataline,  if  all  subsists  by  elemental 
strife,  and  passions  are  the  elements  of  life,  it  requires  a  remark- 
able philosophical  acumen  to  educe  the  blessing  to  man,  to 
realize  that  he's  as  perfect  as  he  ought,  or  to  understand  how 
or  why  all  that  is.  is  right.  A  person  obliged  to  reason  only 
from  what  he  knows,  should  never  attempt  to  reach  such  a 
conclusion ;  if  he  were  proceeding  to  reason  it  out  from  some- 
thing assumed,  he  should  assume  the  whole  matter  at  once; 
which,  so  far  as  valid  reasoning  is  concerned,  is  just  what  the 
philosopher  has  done  in  the  vindication  in  question— his  poetry, 
figures,  metaphor,  allegory,  and  assumption,  forming  no  factor 
in  right  reasoning.     When  we  confess  that, 

"The  chain  holds  on,  and  where  it  ends  unknown," 

we  confess  away  the  whole  case.  If  the  end  is  unknown,  we 
certainly  cannot  know  its  condition.  If  we  are  to  reason  only 
from  what  we  know,  and  if  what  we  know  consists  of  ninety- 
nine  parts  of  wretchedness  and  wickedness  to  one  of  imagined 
happiness  and  goodness,  it  seems  more  like  assertion  than 
argument  to  declare  that  man  is, 

"     *  *  *     hi  this  or  any  other  sphere, 
Secure  to  be  as  blest  as  he  can  bear." 

If  the  object  of  the  reasoning  in  the  vindication  is  to  authen- 
ticate the  divinity  of  Christianity,  it  is  no"  only  a  miserable  fail- 
ure in  a  philosophical  point  of  view;  it  is  a  sacrilegious  sneer  at 
the  greatest  of  all  miracles,  the  fact  that  unlearned  peasants  and 
fisherman  evolved  the  scheme  of  a  r.^iiofiDn,  that  makes  the 
greatest  conquests  and  most  rapid  anJi  ex  ensive  progress  in 
localities  where  flourish  the  most  refined  civilization  and  the 
highest  order  of  intelligence. 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.         05 

I  come  now  to  a  more  agreeable  part  of  the  present  under- 
taking. If  any  one  should  say  that  I  have  sneered  at  the  phil- 
osopjier  it  shall  not  be  said  that  1  am  disrespectful  to  the  poet. 
A  memorialist  of  his  has  said  that  he  was  "aware  that  the 
metaphysical  was  but  an  indifferent  field  in  which  to  expect 
the  flowers  of  poetry  to  flourish. "  But  I  can  agree  with  iiim  in 
this  with  respect  to  the  Essay  on  Man,  if  at  all,  only  on  the 
hypothesis  that  in  its  composition  the  reasoning  is  so  hopeless- 
ly at  fault,  the  poet  was  not  in  the  field  of  metaphysics.  The 
same  memoralist  has  said,  "it  is  doubtful,  indeed  we  may  add 
more  than  doubtful,  if  Pope  ever  had  any  definite  system  of 
philosophy." 

1  am  obliged  to  agree  with  him  in  this.  If  the  poet  ever 
had  any  such  system  he  must  have  forgotten  it  before,  or  con- 
structed it  after,  he  composed  the  vindication,  as  no  trace  of  it 
is  to  be  found  therein.  But  the  memorialist  is  wrong  in  saying 
that  "the  metaphysical  is  but  an  indifferent  field  in  which  to 
expect  the  flowers  of  poetry  to  flourish."  No  matter  how 
faulty  or  unsound  the  reasoning  ma.y  be,  the  poet,  in  the  com- 
position of  the  Essay  was  in  the  field  of  metaphysics.  It  is  no 
more  essential  to  that,  that  the  assumptions,  postulates,  and 
reasoning  should  be  faultless,  than  that  they  should  be  so  in  an 
argument  to  a  court  or  jury,  to  render  it  forensic. 

If  the  poet  has  balked  or  frustrated  his  main  object,  and 
marred  the  symmetry  of  the  vindication  by  unwarranted  assump- 
tion, by  monstrous  hypotheses  and  illogical  dedu:tion,  it  only 
a.rgues  the  unsoundness  of  his  philosophy,  or  perhaps  that  he 
had  no  definite  system  thereof;  and  not  that  if  he  had  had  such 
system,  he  could  not  have  adorned  it  as  profusely  and  beauti- 
fully as  he  has  done  the  Essay.  And  to  say  that  it  is  not  beau- 
tiful, grand,  sublime,  is  simply  to  assert  the  ignorance  and 
coarseness  of  the  caviler. 

Indeed  many  of  his  postal. itioiis,  assumptions,  and  deduc- 
tions, interrogatively  as  well  a«s  affirmatively  put,  are  metaphys- 
ically perfect,  and  peerless  in  poetry — such  for  instance  as 
these : — 


96  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

"Born  but  to  die,  and  reasoning  but  to  err; 

*7<-*  ******* 

Great  lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to.  all, 
Sole  Judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  hurled, 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world. 

*        *        *        •:;•        *        ***** 

Could  he,  whose  rules  the  rapid  comet  bind, 
Describe  c  fix  one  movement  of  his  mind  ? 
Who  saw  its  fires  here  rise  and  there  descend, 
Explain  his  own  beginning,  or  his  end  ?" 

"Meanwhile  opinion  gilds  with  varying  rays. 
Those  painted  clouds  that  beautify  our  days; 
Each  want  of  happiness  by  hope  supplied 
And  eacii  vacuity  of  sense  by  pride; 
These  build  as  last  as  knowledge  can  destroy; 
in  folly's  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble,  joy; 
One  prospect  lost,  another  still  we  gain; 
And  not  a  vanity  is  given  in  vain." 

"Man  cares  for  all     *      *       *      * 
********** 
Nay,  feasts  the  animal  he  dooms  his  feast, 
And,  til!  he  ends  the  being,  makes  it  blest. 
Which  sees  no  more  the  stroke,  or  feels  the  pain. 
Than  fjvorcd  man  by  touch  ethereal  slain. 
The  creature  had  his  feast  of  life  before; 
Thou  too  must  perish,  when  thy  feast  is  o'er." 

"God,  in  the  nature  of  each  being,  founds 
Its  proper  bliss,  and  sets  its  proper  bounds; 
But  as  he  framed  the  whole  the  whole  to  bless. 
On  mutual  wants  built  mutual  happiness." 

"Learn  each  small  people's  genius,  policies, 

The  ant's  republic,  and  the  realm  of  bees; 

******       *       *       *       * 

In  vain  thy  reason  finer  webs  shall  draw, 

Entangle  justice  in  her  net  of  law, 

And  right,  too  rigid,  harden  into  wrong, 

Still  for  the  strong  too  weak,  the  we.ik  too  strong 

"For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  zeal  ts  fight; 
His  can't  be  wrong  whose  lite  is  in  the  right; 
in  faith  and  hope  the  word  will  disagree, 
But  all  mankind's  concern  is  charity; 
All  must  be  false  that  thwart  this  one  gr^at  end; 
And  all  of  God,  that  bless  mankind  or  mend." 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.         97 

"Condition,  circumstance,  is  not  the  thing; 
Bliss  is  the  same  in  subject  or  in  king, 
in  who  obtain  defence,  or  who  defend, 
in  him  who  is,  or  him  who  finds  a  friend; 
Heaven  breathes  thro'  every  member  of  the  whole 
One  common  blessing,  as  one  common  soul." 

"Who  wickedly  is  wise,  or  madly  brave, 
Is  but  the  more  a  fool,  the  more  a  knave. 
Who  noble  ends  by  noble"  means  obtains, 
Or  failing,  smiles  in  exile  or  in  chains. 
Like  good  Aurelius  let  him  reign,  or  bleed 
Like  Socrates,  that  man  is  great  indeed."" 

"If  parts  allure  thee,  think  how  Bacon  shined. 
The  wisest,  brightest,  meanest  of  mankind; 
Or,  ravished  with  the  whistling  of  a  name, 
See  Cromwell,  damned  to  everlasting  fame. 

*  .>t  *******  * 
In  each  how  guilt  and  greatness  equal  ran. 
And  all  that  raised  the  hero,  sunk  the  man; 

*  *  *  *  *  *  •"-  *  *  * 
The  whole  amount  of  that  enormous  fame, 

A  tale,  that  blends  their  glory  with  their  shame." 

"The  broadest  mirth  unfeeling  folly  wears. 
Less  pleasing  far  than  virtue's  very  tears."" 

The  sense  of  these  selections  could  not  be  prosaically  ex- 
pressed in  anything  near  the  same  or  equivalent  terms.  No 
linguistic  artist  living  can  paint  in  prose  a  picture  of  Bacon  and 
Cromwell,  exhibiting  the  ethical  tints  of  the  above  in  twenty 
times  its  space.  Its  equal  cannot  be  painted  in  prose.  When 
its  equal  shall  be  done,  it  will  be  poetical  regardless  of  rhythm, 
rhvme.  and  measure. 

To  say  that  the  flowers  of  poetry  may  not  be  expected  to 
nourish  in  the  field  of  metaphysics,  is  to  say  that  the  finest 
style  IS  inappropriate  in  a  discussion  of  the  loftiest  theme.  If 
metaphysics  is  a  science  of  mind  or  intelligence,  it  is  difficult 
to  imagine  a  more  supernal  atmosphere  for  the  spirit  of  poetry 
to  breathe  in. 

It  was  certainly  the  burden  of  the  bulk  of  the  thought  ex- 
pressed in  the  great  Essav.  That  the  assumptions  are  false, 
and  the  argument  fallacious,   detracts  nothing  from  the  merit, 


98  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

the  beauty,  and  the  grandeur  of  some  parts  of  the  poetry, 
which  have  seldom  been  equalled. 

Still,  the  piece  is  blotted  over  with  some  coarse  compari- 
sons and  irrelevant  allusions.  Of  pride,  the  ruling  passion,  no 
one  would  have  expected  the  poet  to  say, 

"Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power; 

As  Heaven's  blest  beam  turns  vinegar  more  sour.'^ 

Perhaps  this  is  one  of  the  ornaments  with  which  Taine  says 
the  poet's  style  is  burdened.  This  author  speaking  of  the  poet 
says,  "when  he  had  written  a  work,  he  kept  it  at  least  two 
years  in  his  desk.  From  time  to  time  he  read  and  corrected  it; 
took  counsel  of  his  friends,  fhen  of  his  enemies;"  and  it  is  pre- 
sumably upon  the  advice  of  the  latter  that  he  left  the  above 
ornament  in  the  Essay. 

in  justifying  the  relative  physical  constitution  of  man  and 
things,  how  insignificant,  as  compared  with  accompanying 
passages,  is  his  reason  for  the  coarseness  of  the  human   vision. 

"Why  has  not  man  a  microscopic  eye? 
For  this  plain  reason,  man  is  not  a  flj'.'^ 

And  recurring  to  pride,  the  nightmare  of  the  vindication; 

"She  but  removes  weak  passions  for  the  strong; 
So,  when  small  humors  gather  to  a  gout. 
The  doctor  fancies  he  has  driven  them  out." 

And,  showing  the  mutual  dependence  of  all  creatures  upon 
each  other,  the  relative  advantage  and  disadvantage  of  their 
several  situations,  and  the  subordination  and  servitude  in  man's 
supremacy; 

"The  hog  that  ploughs  not,  nor  obeys  thy  call, 
Lives  on  the  labors  of  this  lord  of  all." 

The  porcine  pungency  of  this  couplet  is  perhaps  intended  to 
intensify  the  severity  of  the  rebuke  to  pride,  but  compared  with 
other  passages  in  the  poem,  the  couplet  seems  more  like  a 
grunt  of  the  swine  than  an  ornament  to  poetic  style. 

As  a  "speaking  picture,"  it  is  remarkable,  with  what  celer- 
ity the  Essay  occasionally  goes  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridicu- 
lous and  frivolous,  sometimes  making  the  decent  in  one  breath 


DIVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.        99 

"Superior  beings,  when  of  late  they  saw 
A  mortal  man  unfold  all  nature's  law, 
Admired  such  wisdom  in  a  human  shape, 
And  showed  a  Newton  as  we  sbo-w  a)i  ape." 

■'Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it  the  fellow, 
The  rest  is  all  but  leather  or  prunella." 

Such  samples  sound  slightly,  if  at  all.  like  the  "concrete 
and  artistic  expression  of  the  human  mind  in  emotional  and 
rhythmical  language."  They  seem  more  like  the  frenzy  of  a 
dazed  or  wearied  mind  which  might  be  supposed  to  have  over- 
taxed its  energy  and  resources  in  accompanying  flights,  the 
altitude  of  which  has  been  reached  by  few.  if  anv  other  writ- 
ers. What  could  be  more  pertinent  or  philosophical,  than  the 
above  allusion  to  .Aurelius  and  Socrates  ?  Who  has  ever  so 
powerfully  put  three  paradoxes  in  three  so  short  and  consecu- 
tive lines  as  these. 

"Great  lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all, 
Sole  judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  hurled, 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world  ?" 

Poetic  beauty  is  not  marred  by  power  and  grandeur.  It  is 
not  necessarily  effeminate  sweetness  of  expression.  Magnifi- 
cence, grandeur,  and  splendor  are  beauty.  The  Apollo  Belvi- 
dere  is  more  beautiful  than  the  Eros,  or  Cupid.. 

It  is  said,  ''his  great  cause  for  writing  was  literary  vanity; 
he  wished  to  be  admired,  and  nothing  more; — Pope  has  no 
dash,  no  naturalness  or  manliness,  he  has  no  more  ideas  than 
passions ;  at  least  such  ideas  as  a  man  feels  it  necessary  to  write, 
and  in  connection  with  which  we  lose  thought  of  words.  *  *  * 
In  reality,  he  did  not  write  because  he  thought,  but  he  thought 
in  order  to  write;  manuscript  and  the  noise  it  makes  in  the 
world,  when  printed,  was  his  idol ;  if  he  wrote  verses,  it  was 
merely  for  the  sake  of  doing  so."  The  memorialist  closes  the 
paragraph  from  which  the  above  is  quoted,  with  a  compro- 
mising compliment  to  the  poet,  which,  taken  in'  the  connec- 
tion in  which  it  is  found,  suggests  that  he  himself  was  not 
writing  because  he  had  thought,  unless  he  had  thought  both 
favorably  and  unfavorably  of  his  subject.  If  instead  of  "literary 
vanity"  the  caviler  had  used  the  term  ambition,  he  would  have 
been  nearer  the  truth,  and  would  have  shown  more  of  the  dis- 


lOO  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

cernment  and  candor,  to  say  nothing  of  charity,  that  charac- 
terize the  great  man,  than  of  the  envy  and  cynicism  that  mark 
the  midget.  But  consistency  is  a  jewel  with  which  many  of 
them  frequently  fail  to  adorn  themselves.  This  same  memor- 
ialist further  says  of  the  same  poet,  "A  great  writer  is  a  man 
who,  having  passions,  knows  his  dictionary  and  grammar; 
Pope  thoroughly  knew  his  dictionary  and  his  grammar,  but 
stopped  there.'"  In  other  words,  he  had  no  passions.  Less 
than  ten  pages  before  this,  he  said  the  poet  "had  no  more  ideas 
than  passions,  at  least  such  ideas  as  a  man  feels  it  necessary 
to  write,  and  in  connection  with  which  we  lose  thought  of 
words."  The  mathematical  result  is  that  the  poet  was  barren 
of  such  ideas  as  his  critic  thought  proper  for  poetical  suprem- 
acy. But  according  to  his  formula,  (passions,  dictionary  and 
grammar)  ideas  would  be  a  superfluity.  In  view  of  the  critic's 
assertion  that  "we  trouble  ourselves  no  more  about  adornment, 
but  about  truth,"  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  why  he  directed  his 
fusilade  of  invective  against  the  poetrv  of  the  poet,  and  never 
noticed  the  philosophy  of  the  philosopher. 

It  may  be  as  Taine  says;  Pope  may  not  have  written  be- 
cause he  had  thought ;  he  may  have  thought  solely  to  write. 
His  doctrines  cannot  be  concatenated  into  a  doctrine.  But  his 
poetry  is  conclusive  evidence  of  ambition,  and  does  not  raise  a 
suspicion  of  vanity.  If  he  wrote  from  personal  vanity  why 
was  it,  as  the  critic  says,  that  "when  he  had  written  a  work 
he  kept  it  at  least  two  years  in  his  desk."  correcting  it  from 
time  to  time,  and  consulting  both  friends  and  enemies  about  it  } 

As  discordant  as  the  Essay  is,  the  evident  intent  of  its  auth- 
or was,  to  so  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man,  as  to  eclipse 
all  the  apologists  who  had  preceded  him,  and  left  the  deleter- 
ious influence  of  their  alleged  reasonings  to  stigmatize  their 
cause;  and  as  his  vaulting  ambition  could  not  brook  the  society 
of  the  limited  capacities  that  could  occupy  themselves  in  the 
advocacy  of  a  prescribed  faith  or  sectarianism,  he  attempted  to 
comprehend  all  nature,  and  found  himself 

"Placed  on  this  isthmus  of  a  middle  state," 

and  so  impotent  and  dazed,  as  to  be  utterly  unable  to 
"Describe  or  fix  one  movement  of  his  mind." 


blVINE  DISPENSATION  VINDICATED  IN  POETICAL  PHILOSOPHY.      10 1 

If  he  was  vain,  it  is  not  so  apparent  in  the  way  he  wrote, 
or  in  his  motive,  as  his  ambition  is  in  his  selection  of  a  subject. 
To  attempt  to  justify  what  it  is  impossible  to  understand,  or 
even  to  know  anything  of.  may  be  vanity;  but  if  it  is,  it  is  of 
a  kind  that  verges  verv  near  if  not  into  ambition.  Whoever 
attempts  such  a  task  must  (logically  and  reasonably)  admit  the 
debatability  of  his  hypothesis,  and  all  the  poetry  of  all  the  poets, 
and  all  the  reasoning  they  have  mangled  in  meter,  is  insufficient 
to  restore  the  apologist,  in  the  estimation  of  candid  judgment, 
to  the  position  he  must  lose  by  such  an  admission.  The  nec- 
essary legitimate  tendency  of  all  apologetics,  poetical  or  other, 
(if  they  are  allowed  to  have  any  effect)  is  to  arouse  suspicion; 
and  in  cool  practical  reasoning  minds,  something  more  than 
poetry  is  necessary  to  convince  the  judgment.  There  is  no 
definite  philosophy,  nothing  but  poetry,  in  the  vindication;  and 
while  there  are  hideous  blots  on  the  poetry,  it  is  in  the  main, 
one  of  the  grandest,  most  sublime  and  beautiful  poems  in  the 
English  language. 


CHAPTER   V. 

POETICAL    PARASITISM. 

Metropolis  of  Seventeenth  Century  Literature — Dominated  by  a  Pensioner  of 
Royalty — Paid  Panegyric — Loathsome  character  of  Subjects  Praised — 
Malevolent  Satire  of  Those  in  Disfavor  with  Royalty — Catholicism  Ridi- 
culed in  the  Absalom  and  Achitophel — The  "Chief  Justice's  Western 
Campaign" — Protestantism  Ridiculed  in  the  "Hind  and  Panther" — Kings's 
Southeastern  Campaign — Egotism  of  the  Laureate — Cause  of  His  Popu- 
larity. 

At  the  time  of  the  Restoration  there  was  between  Covent 
Garden  and  Bow  Street  in  London,  a  place  called  Will's  Coffee- 
House,  which  was  noted  as  a  resort  of  the  elite  in  politics  and 
literature.  Its  habitues  were  classified  in  castes,  grades,  and  de- 
grees, varying  in  consequential  airs  as  well  as  literary  authority- 
Politics  embraced  church  affairs,  and  ecclesiastical  polity  was  a 
matter  of  as  much  concern  and  as  learned  discussion  as  divine 
right,  the  coronal  succession,  or  the  relation  of  the  several 
estates  of  the  realm.  It  was  the  Hub  of  the  literary  universe, 
in  the  metropolis  of  civilization ;  where  wit  learning  and 
genius  were  supposed  to  be  concentered,  and  where  they  cer- 
tainly were  well  represented.  Here  the  Magnate  swayed  the 
sceptre  as  imperiously  as  his  royal  patron  and  prototype  in  the 
sphere  of  his  dominion.  "To  bow  to  the  Laureate  and  hear 
his  opinion  *  *  *  was  thought  a  privilege.  A  pinch  from 
his  snuff-box  was  an  honor  sufficient  to  turn  the  head  of  a 
young  enthusiast." 

If  talent  could  afford  to  aftllliate  with  candor  this  was  cer- 
tainly the  place  where,  above  all  others,  they  might  reasonably 
have  been  expected  to  consort.  The  Autocrat  of  this  domain 
might  be  expected  to  embody  all  that  was  excellent  in  letters, 
if  not  in  philosophy.  But  the  literary  lick-spittle  frisked  about 
and  fawned  upon  his  literary  Lord,  with  the  same  servility  as 
that  with  which  he  in  turn  courted  the  favor  of  the  Sovereign  of  a 
more  substantial  kingdom.  At  the  time  mentioned  the  realm 
of  Letters  was  dominated  by  a  phenomenal  genius,  whose 
guerdon  was  not  only  a  support,  but  the  wherewith  to  gratify 


POETICAL   PARASITISM.  IO3 

an  exquisite  relish  for  princely  dissipation.  His  stipend  of  two 
hundred  pounds  per  annum  was  from  the  fund  wrung  by 
divine  right  from  the  toil  of  the  millions,  the  hewers  of  wood 
and  carriers  of  water.  It  was  the  price  for  which  he  sung  the 
praises  of  the  hereditary  oppressors  of  a  people,  and  he  earned 
it  by  toadying  to  royalty  in  strains  inspired  by  the  quid  pro  quo, 
rather  than  by  a  sincere  respect  for  the  objects  of  his  prodigal 
homage.  This  is  apparent  in  several  flicts,  one  of  which  was 
his  change  of  fliith  when  political  power  passed  from  Protest- 
antism to  Catholicism  in  1685.  Another  one  is  the  disgusting 
tlattery  with  which — for  five  hundred  guineas — he  sung  the 
Countess  whom  he  had  never  seen  in  such  strains  as  these : — 

"A  second  Eve,  but  by  no  crime  accurst, 
As  beauteous,  not  as  brittle  as  the  first. 
Had  she  been  first,  still  Paradise  had  been 
And  death  had  found  no  entrance  by  her  sin." 

In  his  Annus  Mirabilis,  predicting  a  golden  era,  and  attribut- 
ing it  to  the  energy,  valor,  and  virtue,  of  as  indolent,  cowardly, 
and  licentious  a  rake  as  was  ever  by  fortuity  of  birth  the  scourge 
and  reproach  of  a  nation,  he  said: — 

"Then  we  upon  our  globe's  last  verge  shall  go, 
And  view  the  ocean  leaning  on  the  sky; 
From  thence  our  rolling  neighbors  we  shall  know, 
And  on  the  lunar  world  securely  pry. 
This  1  foretell  from  your  auspicious  care, 
Who  great  in  search  of  God  and  nature  grow, 
Who  best  your  wise  Creator's  praise  declare, 
Since  best  to  praise  His  works  is  best  to  know." 

This  search  of  God  and  nature,  in  which  the  King  grew 
great,  may  have  been  going  on  when,  in  February  1685,  some 
of  his  decent  subjects  repaired  to  Whitehall  to  pay  him  their 
respects,  and  found  him  surrounded  with  gamblers,  and  toying 
with  courtezans  whose  lecheries  were  the  disgrace  of  their  sev- 
eral countries.  It  may  have  been  when  he  was  receiving  a 
paramour  by  the  back-stairway  conducted  thither  and  intro- 
duced into  the  royal  bed-chamber  by  Chiffinch,  the  official 
pimp.  Possibly  it  was  when  he  was  transforming  a  scrofu- 
lous quaker  into  a  healthy  and  sound  churchman,  by  laying  on 


104  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

the  same  hands  that  had  dallied  with  the  most  notorious  and 
libidinous  strumpets  that  had  ever  profaned  their  sex.  Per- 
haps it  was  when  he  procured  some  ruffians  to  mutilate  the 
person  of  a  country  member,  who.  in  discharge  of  his  political 
duty  had  disapproved  of  the  profligacy  which  squandered  on 
favorites  and  concubines,  the  money  wrung  from  his  subjects 
by  an  oppressive  tax,  under  color  of  providing  for  the  safetv  of 
the  realm.  At  all  events,  the  greatest  genius  of  the  age  pre- 
dicts a  senseless  something  in  his  Country's  impending  rela- 
tions with  the  man  in  the  moon,  because  a  prurient  caricature 
on  Kings  grows  great  in  search  of  God  and  nature. 

Adulation  is  erected  into  an  art,  and  extravagance  is  com- 
monplace with  the  stipendiary  wheedler.  The  Astrea  Reddux. 
on  the  return  of  his  sacred  majestv  in  1660.  is  so  full  of  tlunk- 
eyism  that  the  beauty  of  many  of  the  most  beautiful  passages 
in  poetry  is  obscured  and  rendered  disgusting  in  the  use  that  is 
made  of  them.  It  would  certainly  disgust  a  prince  not  infatu- 
ated with  inordinate  self-conceit.  In  the  light  of  historical 
truth  concerning  the  character  it  apotheosizes,  one  can  have 
no  respect  for  the  integrity  of  the  inspired  parasite.  He  could 
not  have  been  ignorant  of  the  vices  of  his  idol.  No  truly  great 
and  consciencious  man  would  so  eulogize  a  dissembling  volup- 
tuary who  had  sanctioned  the  execution  of  obscure  priests  for 
performing  the  rites  enjoined  by  their  faith. 

In  the  Threnodia  Augustalis  we  are  shown  how  beautifully 
and  majestically  a  monarch  can  die,  but  not  how  the  one  in 
question  did  die,  although  the  bard  says; — 

"The  same  assurance  all  his  words  did  grace; 
The  same  majestic  mildness  held  its  place; 
Nor  lost  the  monarch  in  his  dying  face.'' 

But  history  has  his  majesty's  soul  snatched  from  perdition 
at  the  eleventh  hour,  by  the  dexterous  daring  of  his  paramour, 
who  "could  not  enter  his  room  without  giving  scandal."  She 
caused  the  French  Ambassador  to  have  a  priest  brought  up  the 
same  back-stairway  (to  the  royal  bed-chamber)  which  she  had 
so  often  climbed,  but  not  on  such  an  errand  as  that  of  the 
Portuguese  ecclesiastic. 

Adulation    of  royalty    was  not   the  only  point    in    which 


POETtCAl.    PARASITISM.  I05 

the  poet  excelled.  Virulent  invective  was  another  ready 
resource.  Paid  panegyric  kept  his  soul  and  body  together, 
but  vilification  immortalized  him.  Having  long  inveighed 
against  fickleness  in  faith,  in  the  post-meridan  of  his  day  he 
gave  the  lie  to  his  long  life,  renounced  the  doctrine  of  the  pa- 
trons of  his  former  prosperity,  and  cringed  to  a  new  regime 
with  more  obsequiousness  than  to  the  first.  Of  the  Rev.  Sam- 
uel Johnson  he  says: 

"Let  Hebron,  nay  let  Hell  produce  a  man 
So  made  for  mischief  as  Ben-)ochanan. 

*  "-  -.r  * 

Inspired  by  want  was  made  a  factious  tool; 
They  got  a  villain,  and  we  lost  a  fool." 

This  alleged   villain  and  fool  is  not  famed   for  truckling  to 
pelf  or  power.     Something  had  sustained  him  under  the  inflic- 
tion of  three   hundred  and  seventeen  lashes  at  the  tail  of  a  cart 
from  New  Gate  to  Tyburn.     It  may  have  been   character.     He 
had  earned  the  honor  by   urging  the  soldiery  to  defend — not 
the  mass — the  Bible.  Magna  Charta,  and  the  Petition  of  Right. 
He  had  preferred  his  conscience  and  personal  integrity  to  royal 
favor.     His  traducer  however  could  portray  his  own   apostasy 
in  milder  terms — in  the  contrite  colors  of  conversion. 
"My  thoughtless  youth  was  winged  with  vain  desires; 
My  manhood,  long  misled  by  wandering  tires, 
Followed  false  lights,  and,  when  their  glimpse  was  gone, 
My  pride  struck  out  new  sparkles  of  its  o'wn." 

The  force  of  this  compunction  overtook  the  professional 
calumniator  only  after  he  had  sinned  and  sneered  away  his 
thoughtless  youth  of  more  than  half  a  century  in  the  faith  which 
he  thenceforth  (for  ^200  per  annum)  denounced  heretical. 
At  the  age  of  fifty  years,  and  when  he  supposed  his  King  was 
a  Hebrew,  he  had  allied  thejebusites  with  the  Devil.  But  his 
Patron  on  his  death-bed  had  declared  himself  a  Jebusite  and  the 
Successor  was  already  an  avowed  one. 

Perhaps  he  had  not  the  magnanimity  to  forgive  and  forget 
the  insolent  invective  of  the  mercenary  muse  against  thejebu- 
sites and  the  Devil,  exhibited  in  the  Absalom  and  Achitophel; 
subsequent  events  leave  no  other  explanation  of  the  sus-pension 
of  his  pension. 


lo6  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

The  ancient  and  unscrupulous  slave  of  royalty,  who  had 
lived  so  long  by  pandering  to  might  and  mammon,  found  him- 
self in  a  dilemma.  The  new  regime  was  openly  Jebusitic. 
Royal  favor  was  the  aliment  to  which  his  system  was  so  ad- 
dicted that  without  it  life  were  but  a  protracted  fast,  in  de- 
fault of  the  annual  ^200  a  precarious  subsistence  was  for  a 
time  eked  out  by  catering  to  the  foul  frailties  of  the  pit,  and 
by  the  adulation  of  aristocracy.  But  the  tlesh  pots  had  to  be 
recovered.  Their  new  dispensers  had  lately  been  classed  with 
the  Devil  in  the  bitterest  terms  of  the  maligner,  whose  vocabul- 
ary consisted  mainly  of  opprobrium.  Royal  favor  was  still  to 
be  had,  and  at  the  old  price;  payable  however  in  a  different 
specie.  The  price  was  the  manliness  of  the  famishing  bard ; 
the  specie,  was  to  give  the  lie  to  more  than  fifty  years  of  his 
own  life.  To  remove  all  doubt  of  genuineness  in  the  purchase, 
he  proposed  to  make  good  his  late  asseveration  that  renegadoes 
ne'er  turn  by  halves.  He  ridiculed  the  faith  in  vindication  of 
which,  while  he  supposed  his  former  patron  adhered  to  it,  he 
had  immortalized  himself  in  one  of  the  greatest  satires  ever 
written.  So  far  Papacy  had  trained  with  the  Devil,  and  for  the 
smiles  and  the  ducats  of  the  new  potentate,  he  then  proposed 
to  train  with  Papacy.  He  forsook  his  former  faith  and  declar- 
ed that, 

"Her  faults  and  virtues  lie  so  mixed  that  she, 
Nor  wholly  stands  condemned  nor  wholly  free." 

Having  declared  himself  a  Jebusite  his  pension  was  restored, 
the  arrearages  paid  up,  and  he  enlisted  in  the  service  of  the 
Milk-White  Hind,  immortal  and  unchanged  and  so  lately  allied 
with  the  Devil.  If  there  were  no  prior  negotiations  for  the 
thirty  pieces  of  silver  the  promptness  of  their  payment  indicates 
a  due  appreciation  of  the  obligation  of  an  implied  contract. 
Judas  Iscariot  had  the  urbanity  to  betray  with  a  kiss,  and  the 
sense  of  propriety  to  hang  himself.  We  are  not  informed  that 
he  hounded  the  victim  of  his  perfidy  with  contumely  and 
insult.  The  high  priest  of  English  literature  of  the  seventeenth 
century  was  of  a  different  mould.  He  had  already  sung : — 
"For  renegadoes,  who  ne'er  turn  by  halves. 
Are  bound  in  conscience  to  be  double  knaves.'' 


POETICAL    PARASITISM.  IO7 

Had  "He  chose  the  apostate  for  his  proper  theme"  he  might, 
"With  proper  pains"  have  "made  the  picture  true" 

"And  from  retlection  took  the  rogue  he  drew." 

Discreetly  bidding  for  the  favor  of  the  successor,  on  the 
death  of  his  first  patron,  he  exclaimed  : — 

''A  warlike  prince  ascends  the  regal  state. 

Heroes  in  Heaven's  peculiar  mould  are  cast, 
They  and  their  poets  are  not  formed  in  haste. 

In  all  the  changes  of  his  doubtful  state, 
His  truth  like  Heaven's,  was  kept  inviolate. 
For  him  to  promise  is  to  make  it  fate." 

The  brazen  assurance  in  the  proposition  that  heroes  and 
their  poets  are  not  formed  in  haste  is  so  difficult  to  distinguish 
from  effrontery,  as  to  suggest  a  more  particular  notice  of  the 
inordinate  egotism  which  is  only  equalled  by  the  extravagance 
of  the  flattery,  and  the  vituperation  of  the  censure. 

"To  make  quick  way  I'll  leap  o'er  heavy  blocks 

Shun  rotten  Uzza  as  1  would  the  pox; 

And  hasten  Og  and  Doeg  to  rehearse, 

Two  fools  that  crutch  their  feeble  sense  on  verse ; 

Who,  bf  my  muse,  to  all  succeeding  times 

Shall  live  in  spite  of  their  own  dogg'rel  rhymes." 

These  lines  occur  in  a  satire  in  a  part  which  is  said  to  have 
been  written  by  another.  But  the  piece  is  said  to  have  been 
corrected  throughout  by  the  bard  himself,  and  an  exquisite 
sense  of  his  own  importance  is  clearly  discernible  in  the 
twenty-six  consecutive  lines,  which  assure  us  of  the  justice  and 
mildness  of  his  reproof,  and  that: — 

"With  wonder  late  posterity  shall  dwell 
On  Absalom  and  false  Achitophel." 

It  contains  four  distinct  declarations  that, 

"While  Judah's  throne  and  Zion's  rock  stand  fast. 
The  song  of  Asaph  and  the  fame  shall  last." 

The  egotism  with  which  he  alludes  to  himself,  is  only 
equalled  in  the  contempt  with  which  he  consents  to  immortal- 
ize Og  and  Doeg.     To  incur  the  frown  of  the  prince,    entails 


io8  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

the  Otherwise  unprovoked  ridicule,  and  insult  of  the  profes- 
sional traducer.  On  as  slight  a  provocation  he  goes  to  a  ' 
greater  opposite  extreme  in  magnifying  the  merit  of  his  master, 
who  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature  becomes  a  father. 
Language,  and  license  are  levied  to  their  limit  for  strains  in 
which  to  greet  the  auspicious  prodigy. 

"Hail  son  of  prayers  by  holy  violence 
Dragged  down  from  heaven;  but  long  be  banished  thence 
And  late  to  thy  paternal  skies  retire; 
To  mend  our  crimes  whole  ages  would  require. 
To  change  the  inveterate  habit  of  our  sins, 
And  fmish  what  thy  god-like  sire  begins. 
*  *  *  * 

Now  view  at  home  a  second  Constantine; 
(The  former  too  was  of  the  British  line) 
Has  not  his  healing  balm  your  breaches  closed 
Whose  exile  many  sought,  and  few  opposed  ?'" 

This  is  pretty  evenly  divided  between  the  god-like  sire  and 
the  son  of  prayers.  If  poetic  license  were  absolute  immunity 
from  the  restraints  of  veracity  and  the  obligation  of  good  faith, 
there  might  be  some  excuse  for  but  no  justification  of  the  im- 
moderate fustian.  The  god-like  sire  and  warlike  prince  whose 
healing  balm  your  breaches  closed,  and  who,  for  him  to  prom- 
ise is  to  make  it  fate,  had  begged  the  pardon  of  a  foreign  am-  • 
bassador  for  daring  to  convoke  his  own  Parliament  without 
the  consent  of  a  foreign  King.  His  own  country  whose 
breaches  he  had  closed  refused  him  the  sinews  of  war  neces- 
sary to  maintain  the  national  honor  abroad,  under  a  just  appre- 
hension that  it  would  be  used  to  render  more  odious  and  intol- 
erable the  oppression  at  home.  He  received  from  the  foreign 
King  at  one  time  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  with 
which  to  corrupt  members  of  his  own  Parliament  against  his 
own  country,  and  to  the  interest  of  the  implacable  enemy  of  his 
own  people.  He  exalted  to  one  of  the  highest  positions  in  his 
government  a  sot,  who  was  guilty  of  more  judicial  murder  and 
barbarity  than  any  ten  men  who  had  ever  disgraced  the  ermine, 
the  hero  of  the  bloody  assizes,  whose  name  has  become  the 
synonym  for  every  thing  vile,  coarse,  and  brutal  in  a  tyrant; 
and  rewarded  him  with  preferment  and  distinction  in  exact 


POETICAL    PARASITISM.  lOq 

ratio  with  the  enormity  and  frequency  of  his  judicial  butcheries. 
This  favorite  of  the  god-like  sire  had  frequently  sent  popish 
priests  to  the  gallows,  with  the  grateful  assurance  that  they 
should  be  cut  down  alive,  and  witness  the  burning  of  their 
own  bowels,  and  he  gained  his  prestige  with  this  warlike 
prince  by  affecting  a  respect  tor  the  same  faith  for  the  profes- 
sion of  which  he  had  already  sent  hundreds  to  their  death. 
He  browbeat  juries  into  verdicts  of  guilty,  and  sentenced  to 
the  stake,  the  axe,  and  the  halter  more  than  three  hundred 
victims  on  one  circuit,  and  drove  a  thriving  trade  in  pardons, 
receiving  fifteen  thousand  pounds  for  the  life  of  one  man  against 
whom  not  even  a  shadow  of  a  case  could  be  made.  And  the 
warlike  prince  and  god-like  sire  jocularly  dubbed  this  cyclone 
of  terror  and  death  his  (]hief  Justice's  western  campaign. 
When  this  beast  with  the  blood  of  hundreds  of  his  fellow  crea- 
tures on  his  hands,  slackened  in  the  work  of  unparalleled  bar- 
barity and  judicial  violence,  he  received  a  sharp  reprimand 
from  the  god-like  sire  for  his  timidity ;  and  to  retain  favor  he 
assured  his  patron  that  he  should  have  no  further  occasion  to 
censure  him  for  such  weaknesses  as  honor  or  humanity. 

There  is  a  peculiarly  grim  humor  in  the  appellation  war- 
like prince  when  applied  to  a  King  who  offered  to  violate  obli- 
gations to  which  the  faith  of  his  country  was  pledged,  and  to 
join  in  political  intrigue  against  a  nation  friendly  and  in  alliance 
with  his  own,  if  a  neighboring  monarch  would  engage  to  pro- 
tect him  against  his  own  subjects.  The  phaidit  becomes  pas- 
quinade. Seen  in  the  light  of  historical  truth  the  Britannia 
Rediviva,  is  a  more  stinging  satire  ot  the  bard's  Idol,  than  is 
the  Absalom  and  Achitophel  of  the  malcontents  it  so  severely 
lampoons.  The  warlike  prince  probably  was  not  so  war- 
like when  he  was  being  hustled  from  a  hoy  in  the  Thames  by 
Kentish  fishermen  and  prevented  fi'om  escaping  from  his  own 
subjects  to  his  foreign  master  to  whom  he  had  persistently  be- 
trayed his  country.  This  southeastern  campaign  of  his.  was  a 
very  suitable  sequel  to  the  western  campaign  of  his  chief  jus- 
tice, but  it  does  not  appear  that  he  ever  referred  to  it  so 
facetiously. 

The  character  of  the  prince  so  extravagantly  eulogized  and 


1  lO  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

exhibited  for  the  admiration  of  posterity,  is  seen  to  be  one 
deserving  of  universal  execration.  He  was  a  king  and  a  cow- 
ard, a  tyrant  and  a  traitor,  a  monarch  and  a  miscreant,  who 
never  hampered  himself  or  prejudiced  a  project  bv  anything 
partaking  of  the  nature  of  sincerity  or  good  faith.  His  paid 
panegyrist  worshipped  him,  looked  up  to  and  adored  him, 
and,  for  a  cash  consideration,  broke  out  in  extravagant  praise 
of  the  prince  who  abandoned  his  own  subjects  to  anarchy  and 
flung  the  last  badge  of  governmental   authority  to  the  waves. 

By  what  right  is  the  respect  of  an  enlightened  posterity 
claimed  for  the  poem,  the  poet,  or  the  prince  ?  Can  a  trace  of 
sincerity  be  detected  in  any  of  them  }  When  the  motive  oi 
the  muse  is  so  manifestly  mercenary  one  cannot  repress  the 
disgust  naturally  provoked  at  the  sight  of  fawning  tlunkeyism. 
That  pretty  things  have  been  prettily  said  is  far  from  sufficient  to 
entitle  extravagant  effusions  of  unmerited  eulogy  to  a  place  in 
the  classics.  If  there  is  a  feature  in  any  of  it  more  prominent 
than  its  loathsome  lickspittleism,  it  is  the  rancor  of  its  insolence 
to  whoever  is  mentioned  from  whom  no  favor  was  to  be  hoped. 
The  elements  of  character  which  command  the  respect  of  dis- 
criminating men.  are  courage,  integrity,  sincerity,  consistency, 
and  charity.  Has  the  sneering  sycophant  left  a  line  in  which 
there  lurks  even  a  suspicion  of  any  of  these  ? 

Should  a  world  gape  at  the  grandeur  of  a  mind  that  has 
spent  itself  in  cringing  to  authority  and  jeering  indiscriminately 
at  all  opposition  }  Why  should  satire  and  eulogy  be  exempt 
from  the  obligations  of  veracity  and  moderation,  more  than  any 
other  style  }  At  what  period  in  its  history  did  the  Milk-White 
Hind  so  conduct  itself  as  to  justify  the  asseveration  that: — 

"Of  these  a  slaughtered  army  lay  in  blood, 
Extended  o'er  the  Caledonian  Wood, 
Their  native  walk;  icbose  vocjI  blood  arose 
And  cn'i'd  for  pardon  on  their  perjured  foes." 

Was  it  when  the  defender  of  the  fiiith  sent  Jeffries  with  the 
olive  branch  into  the  western  counties  just  after  the  battle  of 
Sedgemoor  }  Was  it  when  in  violation  of  a  safe  conduct  Huss 
and  Jerome  were  burned  at  the  stake  t  Was  it  when  the  infant 
born  of  a  woman  in  torture  was  thrown  back  into  the  tlames 


POETICAL    PARASITISM,  I  I  I 

(in  Guernsey)  to  perish  with  its  heretical  mother  ?  Was  it 
when  Philpot,  Ferrar,  Ridley,  Latimer,  Hunter,  Haukes.  and 
numerous  others  of  both  sexes  were  burned  alive  for  the 
sake  of  their  convictions  ? 

A  memorialist  of  this  bard  in  speaking  of  his  satire  has 
said:  "There  must  be  an  appearance  of  candor  on  the  part  of 
the  poet,  and  just  so  much  merit  allowed,  even  to  the  object 
of  the  censure,  as  to  make  the  picture  natural." 

This  candor  and  allowance  of  merit  are  perhaps  manifested 
in  the  Medal  in  an  allusion  to  the  Earl  of  Shaftsburv  : — 

"Bartering  his  vena!  wit  for  sums  of  gold 

He  casts  himself  into  the  saint-like  mould; 

Groaned,  sighed,  and  prayed,  while  godliness  was  gain, 

The  loudest  bagpipe  in  the  squeaking  train.'' 

The  bard  himself  says:  "The  true  end  of  satire  is  the 
amendment  of  vice  by  correction.  And  he  who  writes  hon- 
estly is  no  more  an  enemy  to  the  offender,  than  the  physician 
to  the  patient,  when  he  prescribes  harsh  remedies  to  an  invet- 
erate disease."  The  word  honestly  would  seem  to  render  the 
proposition  quite  irrelevant.  Upon  a  careful  examination,  a 
trace  of  honesty  is  not  discernible  in  anything  from  his  pen. 
Apothegms,  truisms,  proverbs,  ever  so  correct  in  themselves, 
may  delude  the  unwary  when  deftly  applied  in  some  connec- 
tions ;  but  when  properly  scrutinized  they  may  also  disclose 
the  deeper  culpability  of  the  fraud  so  affecting  the  air  of  sin- 
cerity. Whatever  may  be  the  true  end  of  satire,  its  end  seems 
here  to  have  been  to  indulge  and  countenance  vice.  If  pal- 
pable exaggeration  and  falsification  are  vices,  if  flattering  and 
encouraging  personal  vanity  are  vices,  if  inculcating  contempt, 
rancor,  and  cruelty,  and  palliating  the  foulest  of  crimes  are 
vices,  then  the  proposition  is  irrelevant. 

It  is  seldom  we  observe  a  character  without  some  redeem- 
ing trait;  some  feature  to  mitigate  the  offensiveness  of  its  more 
revolting  features.  If  the  tree  is  to  be  judged  by  its  fruit  the 
discovery  of  the  mitigating  feature  in  this  instance  will  be 
difficult.  Aside  from  the  falsification,  flattery,  and  rancor, 
which  characterize  the  works  under  consideration,  there  is 
probably  but  one  other  mark  rising  to  the  dignity  of  a  trait  oi 


112  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

character  to  be  detected  in  them.  That  is  the  self-conceit  of 
their  author.  No  reallv  great  man  ever  boasted  of  his  own 
greatness.  Such  a  boast  is  a  sure  sign  of  contemptible.egotism 
and  littleness. 

When  one  page  of  his  writings  contains  four  distinct  and 
positive  declarations  that  his  song  and  fi^me  shall  forever  last, 
there  is  an  exhibition  of  the  very  vanity  that  ought  to  insure 
their  early  oblivion. 

It  is  true  he  has  said  manv  good  things,  and  has  well  said 
many  bad  things:  and  that  he  was  a  master  of  meter,  and  a 
ruler  in  rhapsody,  and  rhyme.  His  reign  in  the  domain  of 
seventeenth  century  literature  was  a  tit  counterpart  to  the  reign 
of  his  two  royal  patrons  in  their  realm.  History  has  branded 
them  all  with  duplicity,  with  cringing  and  contemptible  servil- 
ity, with  cowardice  and  cruelty,  in  short  with  infamy. 
Why  he  or  they  should  be  canonized  in  politics  or  literature  is 
a  problem,  the  solution  of  which  may  be  left  to  some  one  ambi- 
tious to  account  for  the  caprices  of  fashion. 

That  such  an  author  has  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  history 
of  literature,  or  in  the  memory  of  a  learned  posterity,  is  not  a 
very  gratifying  reflection  on  the  state  of  literary  ethics.  While 
merit  should  be  emulated  and  duly  honored,  its  just  reward 
does  not  require  a  premium  on  servility,  aspersion,  or  mendac- 
ity. The  question  occurs;  to  what  may  we  attribute  the  vic- 
ious taste  that  not  only  tolerates  but  approves  of  such  a  loath- 
some libel  on  letters  ?  How  is  it  engendered,  or  corrupted  to 
such  a  state  as  to  relish  such  rot  ? 

It  argues  a  deplorable  dearth  of  manliness,  that  such  slush 
is  a  recognized  component  in  accepted  belles-lettres:  and  no 
one  could  advisedly  say  that  the  author's  character  gave  it  a 
credential.  The  statement  of  the  cause  of  its  popularity,  would 
scarcely  be  taken  as  a  compliment  to  the  prevailing  integrity 
and  independence.  The  poet  was  a  protege  of  the  prince. 
In  his  court  at  the  coffee  house  he  was  surrounded  with  a  mis- 
cellaneous company,  who  eagerly  evinced  their  devotion  to 
the  prince  by  obsequious  admiration  of  the  paid  panegyrist. 
They  vied  with  each  other  for  his  casual  attentions,  and  caught 
at  his  sayings  with  an  avidity,  bora  of  a  superstitious  reverence 


POETICAL   PARASITISM.  1 13 

(if  not  for  the  man)  for  the  consideration  in  which  he  appeared 
to  be  held  by  royalty.  His  position  not  only  enabled  him 
to  prescribe  the  tone  and  attributes  of  the  lore  of  the  age,  but 
his  influence  perniciously  affected  the  habit  of  thought,  and 
wrought  mind  to  see  nothing  but  excellence  in  anything  from 
his  pen. 

That  the  mind  capable  of  some  of  the  thought  which  he  has 
given  the  world,  should  also  be  capable  of  the  vilification  upon 
the  one  hand,  and  the  sickening  adulation  on  the  other,  that 
disfigures  his  self-erected  monument  and  mars  his  memory; 
and  that  the  world  should  read  with  rapture  and  applaud  to 
the  echo,  are  not  very  gratifying  reflections  to  those  who  would 
look  into  antiquity  with  reverence,  or  at  the  present  in  pride. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

PHILOSOPHIC    FUME,   MYSTICISM,   ECCENTRICITY,    AND  EGOTISM. 

Literary  Heterogeneity — Books  Should  go  Upon  Their  Own  Merit,  and  Not 
Upon  the  Prestige  of  Their  Writers — -Style  Best  Suited  to  Writer  May  be 
Disgusting  to  the  Reader — Folly  of  Philosophizing  in  Terms  of  Buffoonery 
— Sentiment  of  the  Sartor  Resartus  Deserves  Decent  Expression — Author 
Impersonated  in  Teufelsdrockh — Art  of  Printing  Disbands  Armies  and 
Cashiers  Senates — Defiance  of  Politico-Religious  Oppression — Cringing  to 
Royalty — Indifference  to  the  Marvellous — Coarse  Vulgarity  of  Allusion — 
Instance  of  Similarity  to  Kant's  Viev^  of  the  Cosmology — Nature  Not  an 
Aggregate  But  a  Whole — Persistence  of  Force — Smithy-fire — Matter  Rxists 
Spiritually,  to  Body  forth  Ideas — Infancy  of  Teufelsdrockh — Unprecedented 
Egotism  of  Philosopher — Stricture  on  European  Educational  System — Great 
Ability  Squandered  in  Eccentricity  and  Buffoonery — The  French  Revolu- 
tion, tyf  History — Norse  Jarl — ^John  Sterling — Mother  Goose  in  Men's 
Clothes— Spring  Poetry — Witty  Criticism  of  English  Biography — Undue 
Importance  Given  a  Mountebank — Important  Historical  Fact  and  Deep 
Philosophj  Rendered  Ridiculous. 

To  review  an  omnivorous  Reviewer,  Essayist,  Philosopher. 
Novelist,  Biographer,  and  Historian;  one  whose  writings  run 
riot  through  ten  thousand  pages  of  rhapsodical  rant,  may  be  an 
ungrateful,  but  it  cannot  be  a  trifling  undertaking.  When  an 
Author  becomes  a  iiterarv  Nomad,  recognizes  no  boundary  to 
any  department  of  the  Realm,  assumes  to  know  it  all  and 
attempts  to  tell  it  all,  on  all  subjects,  he  may  so  bury  the  good 
he  knows  beneath  his  heterogeneous  Pile,  that  the  labor  of  ex- 
tracting the  treasure  from  the  trash  is  an  unprofitable  one.  The 
versatilitv  and  volubility  of  a  Pedant,  as  exempiitled  in  the 
range  of  his  writings,  have  deterred  some  having  use  for  their 
time,  from  a  minute  review  of  even  the  philosophy  of  the  pon- 
derous mass. 

As  in  certain  lines  of  judicatorv.  there  are  some  leading 
cases  regarded  as  exponents  of  a  particular  doctrine;  so  in  liter- 
ature, no  matter  how  wide  a  range  the  writer  may  take,  there 
may  be  found  among  his  works,  some  particular  product 
which  may  properly  pass  for  the  key-note  of  this  philosophy. 
if  he  has  one,  and  of  the  writer,  whether  he  has  a  philosophy 
or  not. 


PHILOSOPHIC  FUME.   MYSTICISM,   ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     II  5 

In  such  a  case  a  judicious  selection  from  his  literary  cornu- 
copia, and  a  candid  consideration  of  the  specimens  chosen, 
mav  result  in  a  just  estimate  of  the  literary  worth  of  such  writer. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  grievous,  certainly  one  of  the  most 
prevalent,  faults  with  the  authors  is  they  will  write.  It  should 
be  an  inviolable  rule  in  the  Hthics  of  Literature,  that  no  one 
should  demand  the  attention  of  the  reading  world  unless  the 
matter  he  may  have  foi'  exhibition  is  worthy  its  attention;  and 
it  is  of  no  less  importance  that  the  matter  be  exhibited,  if  at  all, 
upon  its  own  merit;  and  not  upon  the  prestige  of  its  author, 
nor  with  the  display  of  gorgeous  tinsel  in  which  it  is  too  fre- 
quently embellished, — to  distortion.  Eccentricity,  dogmatism, 
and  vastidity  are  no  symptoms  of  genius,  and  while  they  may 
sometimes  unfortunately  obscure  merit,  at  other  times  and 
more  unfortunately  disguise  demerit;  they  generally  imply  an 
overweening  estimate  of  the  importance  of  their  employer. 
One  who  has  inflicted  upon  the  world  ten  thousand  pages, 
nearly  every  one  of  which  evinces  deep  learning,  and  many  of 
which  proclaim  the  profound  philosophy  of  their  writer,  might 
have  contributed  materially  and  beneficially  to  Literature,  had 
his  egotism  and  wordiness  been  kept  in  due  subordination; 
had  he  kept  himself  less  prominent  in  his  productions ;  and 
curbed  them  within  reasonable  limits. 

In  one  of  his  essays  the  writer,  some  of  whose  works  are 
now  to  be  considered,  declared  that  "the  grand  point  is  to 
have  a  meaning,  a  genuine,  deep,  and  noble  one;  the  proper 
form  for  embodying  this,  the  form  best  suited  to  the  subject 
and  to  the  author  will  gather  round  it  almost  of  its  own 
accord." 

One  objection  to  this  is  the  assertion  that  the  form  attend- 
ing the  utterances  of  sincerity  will  be  best  suited  to  their  author, 
leaving  their  reader  to  the  chance  of  edification  according  as 
the  form  may  or  may  not  distort  the  truth ;  render  it  clear  or 
unintelligible;  engage  or  weary  and  disgust  the  reader.  The 
form  best  suited  to  the  subject  and  the  author,  the  subject  be- 
ing in  the  authors  hands,  is  necessarily  the  form  best  suited  to 
the  author;  and  this  may  so  obscure  the  genuine  deep  and 
noble    meaning  with  which  his  soul  is  aflame,  as  to  puzzle 


Il6  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

the  reader  to  determine  whether  the  author  sports  with  grand- 
iloquence in  the  expression  of  platitude,  or  dresses  sublimity 
in  homespun.  There  are  many  methods  of  showing  great 
learning,  without  exhibiting  very  profound  wisdom ;  and  wis- 
dom itself  may  be  so  smothered  in  learning,  allusion  and  meta- 
phor as  to  render  a  volume  of  jargon  (in  thought  as  well  as 
language)  as  worthless  as  it  mav  be  unintelligible;  when,  by 
the  use  of  an  appropriate  medium,  the  author's  meaning  might 
have  been  expressed  in  an  instructive  and  agreeable  form. 

While  there  may  be  no  insuperable  objection  to  the  use  of 
allegory,  the  Sartor  Resartus  is  in  name  and  form,  a  striking 
instance  of  its  abuse;  and  the  fact,  which  is  undeniable,  that  its 
author  had  a  meaning,  only  intensities  the  disgust  with  which 
one  turns  from  the  nauseating  rant  in  which  a  weighty  and  a 
serious  subject  is  philosophically  discussed,  and  at  the  same 
time  grotesquely  caricatured.  Though  Locke  was  probably 
unwarranted  in  saying,  the  manner  of  doing  is  of  more  conse- 
quence than  the  thing  done;  he  was  warranted  in  common 
observation  in  saying  upon  that  depends  the  satisfaction  or  dis- 
gust with  which  it  is  received,  it  is  a  mistake  to  attempt  to 
philosophize  in  unphilosophical  terms;  and  caricature  in  word- 
painting  is  a  fouler  blemish  than  when  done  in  the  correlative 
art.  When  one  in  the  use  of  such  style,  shows  a  capacity  for 
something  meritorious  in  an  appropriate  one,  he  cancels  the 
claim  of  indifference  to  the  fate  of  his  own  fame,  and  could 
scarcely  be  considered  sincere  in  admonishing  the  reader  to 
keep  his  mind  "directed  rather  to  the  Book  itself  than  to  the 
Editor  of  the  Book."  The  doctrine  is  not  nearly  so  conspicu- 
ous as  its  writer. 

The  philosophy  of  the  rant  under  consideration  is  one  of 
the  deepest  of  its  time;  and  if  it  were  not  nick-named  and 
travestied  beyond  the  bounds  of  pardonable  buffoonery ;  were 
its  doctrine  taught  in  tranquil  and  temperate  terms  it  would  be 
difficult  to  estimate  the  obligation  of  Literature  to  its  author. 
The  description  of  the  last  banquet  with  Teufelsdrockh.  (Devil's- 
dirt)  the  mythical  genius  of  the  rhapsody,  where  he,  amid  vol- 
umes of  vile  tobacco  smoke  and  the  fumes  of  Dutch  beer, 
"with  low  soul  stirring  tone,  and  the  look  truly  of  an  angel. 


PHILOSOI-'HIC  KUME,   MYSTICISM.    ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     II7 

though  whether  of  a  white  or  of  a  black  one  might  be  dubious, 
proposed  this  toast:     The  cause  of  the  poor  in  Heaven's  name 

and "s.""  is   an  allegorical    declaration   of  a  philosophic 

ruffian  or  buffoon,  that  in  the  struggle  where  Wealth  and 
Power  oppress  Poverty  and  Weakness,  his  sympathy  is  with 
the  oppressed.  The  approval  with  which  the  toast  is  received 
is  a  pregnant  hint  that  the  wise  are  of  the  same  benevolent 
bent. 

The  sentiment  is  commendable — deserves  better  than  to  be 
mangled  in  such  brutality  as  espousing  the  cause  of  the  poor 
in  the  name  of  Heaven  and  Hell;  or  representing  the  mythical 
exponent  of  the  idea  as  probably  an  angel  of  darkness ;  and 
when  it  is  observed  that  over  the  shoulders  of  the  myth,  the 
Philosopher  is  inordinately  complimenting  himself,  one  is  so 
disgusted  with  the  egotism  as  to  be  scarcely  able  to  concede  to 
the  doctrine  its  actual  merit,  in  a  frenzy  of  fulsome  flattery  he 
says.  "And  vet,  thou  brave  Teufelsdrockh,  who  could  tell 
what  lurked  in  thee  ?  Under  those  thick  locks  of  thine,  so 
long  and  lank,  overlapping  roofwise  the  gravest  face  we  ever 
in  this  world  saw,  there  dwelt  a  most  busy  brain.  *  *  *  The 
secrets  of  man's  life  were  laid  open  to  thee;  thou  sawest  into 
the  mvsteries  of  the  Universe  farther  than  another;  thou  hadst 
in  petto  thv  remarkable  Volume  on  Clothes.  Nay,  was  there 
not  in  that  clear  logically-founded  Transcendentalism  of  thine; 
still  more  in  thy  meek,  silent,  deep  seated  Sanscullotism,  com- 
bined with  true  princely  Courtesv  of  inward  nature,  the  visible 
rudiments  of  such  speculation  .^  ^ni  great  men  are  too  often 
unknown,  or  worse,  misknown.  " 

A  philosopher  assuming  to  philosophize  in  the  roaring 
blackguardism  of  the  piece  in  question,  deserves  the  former 
fate,  to  be  unknown;  and  if,  as  in  the  case  in  hand,  he  really  is 
a  Philosopher,  he  may  expect  the  latter,  to  be  misknown. 
Why  should  the  mvthical  genius  of  the  philosophy  be  called 
Devil's-dirt  }  What  was  the  remarkable  volume  on  Clothes 
and  who  was  the  wonderfully  profound  and  gifted  Teufels- 
drockh, other  than  the  (Tailor  patched)  Sartor  Resartus  and  its 
author  ?     And  why  should  he  obliquely  call  attention  to  him- 


Il8  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

self  by  directing  it  ostensibly  to  the  philosophy  which  deserves 
better  than  to  be  slimed  over  in  such  rot  ? 

Few  have  had  a  deeper  and  truer  insight  into  the  nature  of 
things  in  general;  or  held  sounder  opinions  upon  most  of  the 
debatable  propositions  in  Moral  Science;  or  could  more  forcibly 
declare  a  doctrine;  or  more  vividly  present  and  illustrate  an 
idea,  a  condition,  or  situation,  than  this  blatant  and  eccentric 
egotist.  There  is  nothing  in  the  Hnglish  language  superior  to 
his  night  scene  in  a  city,  covering  about  two  pages  in  the 
chapter  called  Reminiscences.  It  is  a  terribly  true  representa- 
tion of  the  subject,  done  with  a  pencil  of  living  tlame.  dipped, 
in  all  the  colors  in  all  their  vividness  that  dim  and  darken  and 
brighten  human  existence.  But  it  is  blemished  by  the  disgust- 
ing daubs  of  his  irrepressible  egotism  and  caricature. 

In  the  chapter  lampooned  with  the  appellation  "The  World 
in  Clothes,"  the  Pedant  with  his  ventriloquous  goose-quill  has 
the  mythical  Magian  of  Weisnichtwo  descanting  upon  Appear- 
ances, Evolution,  and  Progress;  thundering  into  the  ears  of  the 
Then  and  its  Future  volumes  of  the  voice  of  incoherent  wisdom 
in  less  than  one  page;  and  in  terms  which  burn  their  impress 
indelibly  into  the  understanding  and  memory.  That  "the  first 
spiritual  want  of  a  barbarous  man  is  Decoration."  is  somewhat 
enigimatical.  if  it  has  any  significance.  But  that  "the  heaven- 
inspired  melodious  Singer;  loftiest  Serene-Highness;  nay.  thy 
own  amber-locked  snow-and-rose-bloom  Maiden.  *  *  *  has 
descended  like  thyself,  from  that  same  hair-mantled,  flint- 
hurling.  Aboriginal  Anthropophagus;"  that  "not  Mankind  only, 
but  all  that  Mankind  does  or  beholds,  is  in  continual  growth, 
re-genesis  and  self-perfecting  vitality;'  that  "he  who  first 
shortened  the  labor  of  copyists  by  device  of  Moveable  Types 
was  disbanding  hired  Armies,  and  cashiering  most  Kings  and 
Senates,  and  creating  a  whole  new  Democratic  world;"  that 
"the  first  ground  handful  of  Nitre,  Sulphur,  and  Charcoal  drove 
Monk  Sch wart's  pestle  through  the  ceiling"  and  the  last  will 
"Achieve  the  final  undisputed  prostration  of  Force  under 
Thought,  of  Animal  courage  under  Spiritual;"  and  that  the 
descendent  of  the  Man-eating  Monster  "collects  apparently  by 
lot,   six  hundred  and  fifty-eight  miscellaneous  individuals,  and 


PHILOSOPHIC  FUME,   MYSTICISM,    ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     I  1 9 

says  to  them,  make  this  nation  toil  for  us,  bleed  for  us,  hunger 
"and  sorrow,  and  sin  for  us,  and  they  do  it;"  are  a  motley 
medley  of  masterpieces.  They  are  a  true  pen-picture  of  pro- 
gress and  evolution,  blurred  all  over  with  the  self-conceit  and 
eccentricity  of  the  artist.  Such  a  depiction  of  the  transition 
from  "the  maker  of  the  first  wooden-dibble,"  to  the  masterly 
manipulator  of  mechanics  and  men,  is  at  once  a  profound  ser- 
mon in  philosophv.  and  an  unparalleled  panorama  of  human 
history.  To  the  discerning  reader  the  last  quoted  passage  por- 
trays the  entire  British  politico-economic  and  social  system. 

One  chapter  under  the  silly  sobriquet  of  "Aprons"  appears 
to  be  devoted  to  some  branch  of  the  general  subject,  but  the 
allusion  is  so  vague  and  rambling  that  it  is  difficult  to  decide 
what  philosophical  significance  it  has.  The  opening  paragraph, 
pregnant  with  notable  historical  fact,  suggests  a  formerly  pre- 
vailing spirit  of  integrity  and  defiance  of  politico-religious  op- 
pression, in  the  mention  of  the  woman  "who  threatened 
Sovereign  Majesty  that  she  would  catch  her  husband's  head  in 
her  Apron,  rather  than  he  should  lie  and  be  a  bishop."  That 
the  Landgravine,  who  on  her  husband's  death  was  by  his 
brother  deprived  of  her  regal  state,  and  afterwards,  being  offer- 
ed restitution  refused  it  and  obstinately  devoted  her  life  to 
religious  charity,  is  hopelessly  unintelligible  in  the  connection 
in  which  it  is  found ;  unless  it  is  intended  as  an  instance  of  the 
Pedants  familiaritv  with  the  data  of  history.  It  makes  no  point 
and  points  no  moral  in  the  general  philosophy. 

Another  chapter,  entitled  "Miscellaneous-Historical,"  is 
sufficiently  miscellaneous  to  deserve  that  part  of  its  title  and 
render  it  unintelligible  as  anything,  unless  it  is  a  sneer  at  a  fan- 
tastic fashion  in  personal  attire.  The  allusion  by  the  way  of 
comparison  to  the  fancy  of  Teniers  the  Flemish  painter,  and 
Callot  the  French  engraver,  may  be  relevant  illustrations  of  the 
implied  extravagance  of  such  fiishion.  A  contemptible  cring- 
ing to  royalty  is  well  illustrated  in  the  mention  of  Raleigh 
spreading  his  mantle  to  protect  the  feet  of  the  (virgin  ?)  Queen 
from  the  mud,  but  its  import  as  localized  was  probably  never 
known  to  any  one  but  its  author.  The  mention  of  the  trifles 
which  fortuitously   immortalize  some  men,  smacks  somewhat 


I20  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

of  a  rebuke  to  such  an  ambition  as  that  which  seems  to  have 
inspired  it.  Taken  synthetically,  the  chapter  is  an  object  les- 
son in  the  art  of  humility;  but  its  precepts  are  to  be  gleaned 
from  a  mass  of  garish  verbiage  which  seems  to  have  served  its 
main  purpose  if  it  relieved  its  writer,  unless  it  was  chiefly 
intended  to  weary  and  disgust  its  reader. 

In  the  next  chapter,  entitled  'The  World  Out  of  Clothes," 
there  mav  be  found  buried  at  the  usual  depth,  beneath  the 
usually  rotten  rubbish,  some  verv  significant  suggestions,  inter- 
rogatively and  assertivelv  put.  For  instance,  "which  of  your 
Philosophical  Systems  is  other  than  a  dream-theorem;  a  net- 
quotient,  contldentlv  given  out.  where  divisor  and  dividend 
are  both  unknown  }  *  *  *  have  not  all  nations  conceived 
their  God  as  Omnipresent  and  Eternal;  as  existing  in  a  univer- 
sal Here,  an  everlasting  Now  .-  *  *  *  thus  let  but  a  rising  of 
the  Sun,  let  but  a  creation  of  the  World  happen  twice,  and  it 
ceases  to  be  marvellous,  to  be  noteworthy,  or  noticeable." 

Then  follows  a  chapter  called  '"Adamitism,"  and  after  it 
one  called  "Pure  Reason,"  in  both  of  which  the  purpose  seems 
to  be  to  show  that  the  great  difference  among  men,  as  to  the 
part  thev  plav  and  the  attention  they  receive  in  the  world,  is 
due  to  circumstances  more  than  to  themselves. 

The  argument  is  svmbolized  in  the  farcical  fantasy  of 
Clothes.  In  the  former  chapter  he  inquires,  "Was  not  every 
soul,  or  rather  every  body,  of  these  Guardians  of  our  Liberties, 
naked,  or  nearly  so  last  night;  a  forked  Radish  with  head  fan- 
tastically carved.^"  In  the  latter  he  inquires,  "Are  we  Opos- 
sums; have  we  natural  pouches  like  the  Kangaroo  ':'  Or  how, 
without  clothes,  could  we  possess  the  master-organ,  soul's 
seat,  and  true  pineal-gland  of  the  body  social;  I  mean  a  purse.^" 

And  in  the  latter  chapter,  as  though  culling  the  works  of 
the  alleged  Teufelsdrockh  he  says,  "Much  also  we  shall  omit 
about  confusion  of  Ranks,  and  Joan  and  My  Lady,  and  how  it 
would  be  everywhere  Hail-fellow  well  met,  and  Chaos  were 
come  again;  all  which  to  any  one  that  has  once  fairly  pictured 
out  the  grand  mother-idea,  Society  in  a  state  of  Nakedness,  will 
spontaneously  suggest  itself."  And  such  rot  as  this  has  place 
in  what  passes  current  as  a  philosophical  dissertation  on  the 


PHILOSOPHIC  FUMK.   MYSTICISM,   ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     12  1 

State  of  the  Social  Fabric:  and  a  writer  of  a  history  of  English 
Literature,  assuming  the  airs  of  a  Critic,  ranks  the  genius  of 
this  raving  Riddler  with  that  of  such  men  as  Macaulay;  and 
even  gives  the  advantage  in  the  comparison  to  the  Literary 
Lunatic,  of  whom  it  is  doubtful  if  he  knew  what  he  meant,  or 
that  he  meant  anything  intelligible  to  himself  or  to  anv  one 
else,  by  what  he  has  said  in  several  of  the  above  extracts. 

The  sickening  fustian  is  followed  by  some  immoderate  self- 
praise,  administered  obliquely  and  as  an  encomium  of  the  alleged 
Teufelsdrockh,  and  leads  to  the  expression  of  some  ideas 
deserving  a  better  garb  than  that  in  which  they  are  arrayed. 
He  says,  "The  grand  unparalleled  pecularity  of  Teufelsdrockh 
is,  that  with  all  this  Decendentalism.  he  combines  a  Transcen- 
dentalism, no  less  superlative:  whereby  if  on  the  one  hand  he 
degrades  man  below  most  animals,  except  those  jacketed 
Gouda  Cows,  he,  on  the  other,  exalts  him  beyond  the  visible 
Heavens,  almost  to  an  equality  with  the  Gods,  'To  the  eye  of 
vulgar  Logic,"  says  he,  'what  is  man  .^  An  omnivorous  Biped 
that  wears  Breeches.  To  the  eye  of  Pure  Reason  what  is  he  ? 
A  soul,  a  spirit,  and  divine  Apparition.'  "' 

Then  follow  some  paragraphs,  the  sentiment  of  which  if 
put  in  moderate  terms  would  redeem  the  chapter,  and  tend  to 
entitle  it  to  its  appellation  of  Pure  Reason :  but  which  as  usual 
is  bespattered  with  the  mire  and  the  muck  of  a  mind  which 
employs  the  most  outlandish  vehicle  of  expression  when  its 
thought  is  the  most  sublime  and  philosophical.  The  real 
sentiment  pervading  those  paragraphs,  put  in  rational  and  tem- 
perate terms  would  be  one  of  the  most  stinging  rebukes  ever 
administered  to  the  upstart  audacity  of  Skepticism,  it  prob- 
ably was  Kant's  inspiration  when  he  wrote.  "The  World 
around  us  opens  before  "our  view  so  magnificent  a  spectacle  of 
order,'  variety,  beauty,  and  conformity  to  ends,  that  whether 
we  pursue  our  observations  into  the  infinity  of  space  in  the  one 
direction,  or  into  its  illimitable  division  in  the  other,  whether 
we  regard  the  world  in  its  greatest  or  in  its  least  manifesta- 
tions, *  *  *  even  after  we  have  attained  to  the  highest  sum- 
mit of  knowledge  which  our  weak  minds  can  reach,  we  find 
that  language  in  the  presence  of  wonders  so  inconceivable  has 


122  ETHICS    OF    IJTKRATURE. 

lost  its  force,  and  number  its  power  to  reckon,  nay,  evert 
thought  fails  to  conceive  adequately,  and  our  conception  of  the 
vv'hole  dissolves  into  astonishment  without  the  power  of  ex- 
pression— all  the  more  eloquent  that  it  is  dumb." 

But  there  is  nothing  besides  the  sentiment,  certainly  noth- 
ing in  the  expression,  to  indicate  that  the  Philosopher  obtain- 
ed his  cue  from  the  Critique.  It  is  indeed  deplorable  that  such 
sentiment  and  philosophy  as  those  paragraphs  contain  should 
be  made  ridiculous  and  disgusting  by  the  use  of  such  loathsome 
similizing  as,  "Doth  not  thy  cow  calve,  doth  not  thy  bull  gen- 
der ?"  In  all  the  phenomena  in  Nature  a  Philosopher  might 
have  found  something  for  illustration,  more  in  keeping  with 
the  gravity  of  his  subject;  something  that  would  be  at  least 
decent  on  paper.  But  he  seems  to  think  there  is  in  Literature 
a  principle,  analogous  to  poetic  license,  by  which  he  might 
with  impunity  be  coarse,  vulgar,  and  vile,  provided  he  were 
sufficiently  arrogant  and  learned. 

The  eleventh  chapter,  entitled  "Prospective"  and  covering 
eight  pages,  closes  the  first  book  of  this  remarkable  Work.  In 
the  second  paragraph  the  Philosopher  surpasses  himself  in  the 
art  with  which  he  blends  self-praise  (put  as  usual,  obliquely 
and  with  a  string  to  it)  with  a  proposition  suggesting,  if  not 
containing,  more  sound  philosophy  than  many  noted  authors 
have  embodied  in  their  life-work.  "Our  Professor,  like  other 
Mystics,  whether  delirious  or  inspired,  gives  an  Editor  enough 
to  do.  Hver  higher  and  dizzier  are  the  heights  he  leads  us  to; 
more  piercing,  all-comprehending,  all-confounding  are  his 
views  and  glances.  For  example,  this  of  Nature  being  not  an 
^.Aggregate,  but  a  Whole.  " 

The  doctrine  of  the  Persistence  of  Force  is  anticipated  and 
graphically,  though  of  course  grotesquely,  epitomized  or  rather 
foreshadowed  in  some  of  the  fragments  of  fustian  with  which 
this  chapter  abounds.  For  example,  "  *  *  *  Thou  fool, 
that  smithv-fire  was  (primarily)  kindled  at  the  Sun;  is  ^Qd  by 
air  that  circulates  from  before  Noah's  Deluge,  from  beyond  the 
Dogstar;  therein  with  iron-force,  and  coal-force,  and  the  far 
stranger  Force  of  Man.  are  cunning  infinities  and  battles  and 


mil.OSOPHIC  FUME,   MYSTICISM,    ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     12^ 

victories    of  Force  brouij;ht  about;   it  is  a   little  ganglion,    or 
nervous  center,  in  the  great  vital  system  of  Immensity." 

Here  the  Philosopher  seems  to  lose  his  equipoise  and  relapse 
into  his  characteristic  fume  about  Clothes:  and  the  rage  of  the 
residue  of  the  chapter,  in  which  freciuent  flashes  indicate  mo- 
mentary recurrences  of  lucid  intervals,  is.  that  "All  visible 
things  are  Emblems."  and  that  "Matter  exists  only  spiritually, 
and  to  represent  some  Idea,  and  body  it  forih."  And  he  bodies 
forth  the  burden  of  the  balance  of  the  book  in  the  mazy  meta- 
phor that  "  *  *  *  in  this  one  pregnant  subject  of  Clothes, 
rightly  understood,  is  included  all  that  men  have  thought, 
dreamed,  done  and  been;  the  whole  External  Universe  and 
what  it  holds  is  but  Clothing;  and  the  essence  of  all  Science 
lies  in  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes." 

■  It  were  tedious  and  unprofitable  to  trace  the  tangled  and 
mangled  thread  of  this  chapter  further;  but  if  its  actual  doc- 
trine— what  it  is,  as  the  Philosopher  says  at  bottom,  were  put 
m  any  other  form  than  his  despicable  drivel,  its  purport  might 
be  a  matter  of  intelligent  speculation.  If  its  title,  '•Prospec- 
tive," signifies  anything  relating  to  its  import,  perhaps  the 
reader  may  deduce  its  signillcation  from  such  inquiries  as, 
"Had  Teufelsdrockh  also  a  father  and  a  mother.''  did  he,  at  one 
time,  wear  drivel-bibs,  and  live  on  spoon-meat.''"  or  this. 
"  *  *  *  what  is  Man  himself,  and  his  whole  terrestrial  life, 
but  an  Emblem;  a  Clothing  or  visible  Garment  for  that  divine 
Me  of  his,  cast  hither  like  a  light  particle,  down  from  Heaven  ?" 
or  this  "  *  *  *  examine  Language;  what,  if  you  except 
some  few  primitive  elements  (of  natural  sound)  what  is  it  all 
but  Metaphors,  recognized  as  such,  or  no  longer  recognized ; 
still  fluid  and  florid  or  now  solid-grown  and  colorless  ?" 

The  second  book,  opens  with  a  chapter  called  Genesis, 
which  seems  to  be  intended  as  a  revision  of  a  biography  of  the 
Mythical  German  Philosopher,  and  is  essentially  romantic 
throughout;  some  scenes  reflecting  credit  on  the  Artist;  and 
some  morals  are  pungently  pointed.  There  is  a  pretty  picture 
of  the  evening  of  the  life,  in  domestic  felicity,  of  an  ancient 
battle-scarred  Prussian  Grenadier;  blended  with  a  depiction,  of 
more    questionable  merit,  of  a  mysterious  stranger  suddenly 


124  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

yet  ceremoniouslv  entering  his  lowly  cot,  depositing  a  silk  cov- 
ered package,  hastily  admonishing  the  dumb-founded  inmates 
to  care  for  it,  and  as  suddenly  and  forever  disappearing.  Of 
course  the  package  contained  the  ■•red-infant"  Teufelsdrockh, 
and  the  perplexity  of  the  aged  pair  soon  subsided  into  a  reso- 
lution to  nurse  the  involuntary  intruder  "though  with  spoon- 
meat,  into  whiteness,  and  if  possible  into  manhood."'  Later 
the  Mvth  bewails  the  wickedness  and  of  course  the  woe  of  the 
unnatural  parent  who  thus  cast  him  upon  the  charity  of  the 
aged  strangers,  saying,  "Beset  by  Misfortune  thou  doubtless 
hast  been,  or  indeed  by  the  worst  figure  of  Misfortune,  by 
Misconduct.  Often  have  1  fancied  how  in  thy  hard  life-battle, 
thou  wert  shot  at.  and  slung  at.  wounded,  hand-fettered,  ham- 
strung, brow-beaten  and  bedeviled,  by  the  Time-spirit  in  thy- 
self and  others,  till  the  good  soul  first  given  thee  was  seared 
into  grim  rage." 

The  infant's  development  was  marvelous.  •'Infinite  was 
his  progress;  thus  in  some  fifteen  months  he  could  perform  the 
miracle  ol"  speech  !  To  breed  a  fresh  Soul,  is  it  not  like  brood- 
ing a  fresh  (celestial)  Egg;  wherein  as  yet  all  is  formless; 
powerless;  yet  by  degrees  organic  elements  and  fibers  shoot 
through  the  watery  albumen;  and  out  of  vague  Sensation, 
grows  Thought,  grows  Fantasy  and  Force,  and  we  have 
Philosophies.  Dynasties,  nay  Poetries,  and  Religions  I" 

The  next  chapter  entitled  "Idyllic."  purports  to  sketch  the 
village  life  of  the  youthful  Philosopher,  and  teaches  some  ex- 
cellent moral  lessons,  disfigured  of  course  by  the  ranting  style 
of  expression.  For  instance,  "Obedience  is  our  universal  duty 
and  destiny;  wherein  whoso  will  not  bend  must  break;  too 
early  and  too  thoroughly  we  cannot  be  trained  to  know  that 
Would,  in  this  world  of  ours,  is  as  mere  zero  to  Should,  and 
for  the  most  part  as  the  smallest  of  fractions  to  Shall.  " 

But  in  the  next  chapter,  entitled  "Pedagogy,"  there  is  an 
exhibition  of  the  most  stupendous  self-conceit  ever  put  upon 
paper,  the  Philosopher  himself  affecting  amazement  at  the  un- 
fathomable depth  of  the  enigmatical  philosophy  of  Clothes  and 
the  transcendent  genius  of  its  Founder  or  exponent,  character- 
izing him  ''A  dangerous  difficult  temper  for  the  modern   Eu- 


PHILOSOPHIC  FUME,   MYSTICISM.   ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     I2S 

ropean."  Then  comes  a  protracted  growl  (of  thirteen  pages) 
at  the  Educational  and  Economic  Systems  of  the  Mother  of  Civ- 
ilization ;  and  even  the  Continental  Universities  are  likened  to 
square  enclosures  in  Crim  Tartary  with  eleven  hundred  strip- 
lings turned  loose  in  them,  and  "certain  persons  under  the 
title  of  Professors,  being  stationed  at  the  gates  to  declare  aloud 
that  it  was  a  University,  and  exact  considerable  admission 
fees."  After  showing  when  and  how  Gullibilitv  may  be  utiliz- 
ed, he  personifies  the  English  Growing  Hopes  in  one  Heir 
Toiighgitt  v^'\\o  "had  a  fair  talent,  unspeakablv  ill-cultivated: 
and.  bating  his  total  ignorance,  for  he  knew  nothing  except 
Boxing  and  a  little  Grammar,  showed  less  of  that  aristocratic 
impassivity,  and  silent  furv.  than  for  most  part  belongs  to 
Travellers  of  his  nation."  And  the  chapter  closes  in  a  severely 
satirical  allusion  to  "the  now  obsolete  sentiment  of  Friendship." 
A  translator  of  the  writings  of  Antoninus  has  said.  "When 
a  man  writes  anything,  we  may  fairlv  try  to  find  out  all  that 
his  words  must  mean,  even  it  the  result  is  that  they  mean 
what  he  did  not  mean;  and  if  v*'e  find  this  contradiction,  it  is 
not  our  fault,  but  his  misfortune."  He  might  appropriately  have 
added,  "and  the  misfortune  of  the  victims  whose  curiosity 
prompts  them  to  read  the  rot.  whose  patience  is  taxed  in  its 
perusal,  whose  expectations  are  disappointed  in  the  result,  and 
whose  sense  of  propriety  is  shocked  at  the  sight  of  a  philoso- 
pher making  a  tool  of  himself:"  and  if  he  were  translating  the 
Sartor  Resartus.  there  is  reason  to  believe  he  would  have  done 
so.  Who  is  most  deeply  concerned  in  the  results  of  a  literary 
undertaking  ?  If  it  is  merely  the  means  of  the  writer's  subsis- 
tence, or  of  his  acquisition  of  wealth  or  fame,  his  failure  may 
be  his  misfortune:  but  if  it  purports  to  be  a  bona  fide  effort  to 
promote  intellectual  progress,  his  failure,  where  he  might  have 
succeeded,  is  his  fault,  and  the  reader's  misfortune. 

Any  one  containing  within  himself  in  so  eminent  a  degree 
as  Carlyle  the  elements  of  success,  "sins  against  the  eternal 
cause"  when  he  disfigures  his  philosophic  dissertations  in  the 
turgid  tumult  of  a  self-conceited  crank.  If  he  was  unwilling  to 
conform  to  the  established  usage  of  the  realm,  or  even  repub- 
lic, and  would  only  pay  in  his  tithe  with  his  trash,  a  dignified 


126  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

self-respect  on  the  part  of  the  literary  public  would  require  it  to 
decline  his  offering.  That  he  was  a  profound  philosopher  is 
apparent  in  the  above  extracts  from  his  Sartor  Resartus.  In 
one  of  his  Latter  Day  Pamphlets,  entitled  Jesuitism,  he  says, 
"Do  vou  ask  why  misery  abounds  among  us  ?  I  bid  you  look 
into  the  notion  we  have  formed  for  ourselves  of  this  Universe, 
and  of  our  duties  and  destinies  there.  If  it  is  a  true  notion,  we 
shall  sti'enuously  reduce  it  to  practice. — for  who  dare  or  can 
contradict  his  fii/tl/.  whatever  it  may  be.  in  the  Hternal  Fact 
that  is  around  him  ? — and  thereby  blessings  and  success  will 
attend  us  in  said  Universe,  or  Eternal  Fact  we  live  amidst : 
of  that  surely  there  is  no  doubt.  All  I'evelations  and  intima- 
tions, heavenly  and  earthly,  assure  us  of  that:  only  a  Philoso- 
phy of  Tiedlam  could  throw  a  doubt  upon  that.  Blessings  and 
success,  most  sui'ely.  if  our  notion  of  this  Universe,  and  our 
battle  jn  it  be  a  true  one;  not  curses  and  futilities,  except  it  be 
not  true.  For  battle,  in  any  case.  1  think  we  shall  not  want: 
harsh  wounds,  and  the  heat  of  the  day  we  shall  have  to  stand  : 
but  it  will  be  a  noble  godlike  and  human  battle,  not  an  ignoble 
devil-like  and  brutal  one:  and  our  wounds,  and  sore  toils 
(what  we  in  our  impatience  call  miseries),  will  themselves  be 
blessed  to  us." 

To  those  doubting  the  possibility  oi'a  Philosophy  of ''Bedlam, 
1  would  suggest  a  perusal  of  the  epileptic  delirium  which  he 
has  taken  the  piecaution  to  label  "The  French  Revolution,  c-^ 
History."  While  every  page  (and  there  are  eight  hundred  and 
eighty-two  of  them)  is  pi"egnant  with  historical  lact,  or  with 
such  allusion  thereto  as  shows  the  writer's  familiarity,  there- 
with, yet  without  the  label  no  one  would  suspect  that  the  pre- 
paration was  intended  as  a  History.  Not  an  average  of  one 
entire  expression  in  it  in  ten.  either  of  fact  or  doctrine  is'  put 
in  the  temperate  terms  of  a  philosopher  or  historian:  and  yet  it 
is  full  of  both  philosophy  and  history. 

It  may  be  considered  that  in  order  to  justify  the  attention 
given  him.  I  made  the  assertion  that  he  had  "a  meaning,  a 
genuine,  deep  and  noble  one:"  and  that  assertion  may  be  con- 
sidered as  devolving  on  me  the  duty  of  stating  what  that  mean- 
ing was.    To  my  mind  it  was  duplex:  he  had  two  meanings: 


PHILOSOPHIC  FUME.    MYSTICISM.   ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     1 27 

one  dominant,  the  other  servient;  the  latter  being  the  "genuine 
deep  and  noble  one;"  subservient  to  the  former  which  was  not 
so  noble;  the  gratilication  of  an  irrepressible  ambition  to  be 
seen  heard  and  felt  in  Literature — which  he  has  realized. 

To  the  question,  what  has  he  done  for  Literature  }  it  may 
be  answered,  Mountains  of  paper,  floods  of  Ink.  and  vast  phys- 
ical force  have  been  expended  in  placing  the  massive  monu- 
ment to  his  mvsticism  and  buffoonery  before  a  wondering 
world.  E.xtracts  from  some  of  the  leading  pei"iodicals  of  his 
time  indicate  that  he  had  set  the  Literati  all  agog  by  the  dark 
and  dubious  allusion  of  his  burlesc^ue  and  rant;  and  that  he  had 
them  seriously  guessing  as  to  the  actuality  of  some  of  his  ab- 
surdly improvised  characters  and  incidents.  On  some  occas- 
ions when  he  seems  to  have  tried  to  be  rational  and  serious, 
and  to  regulate  his  stvle  of  expression,  the  irrepressible  would 
break  out  in  another  form,  distorting  the  direct  statement  of 
historical  fact.  Speaking  of  an  ancient  Norse  Jarl.  King 
Sverrir.  he  says.  ■"His  Birkebeins  and  he  had  certainly  a  talent 
for  campaigning  which  has  hardly  ever  been  equalled.  They 
fought  like  devils  against  any  odds  of  number;  and  befoi'e  bat- 
tle they  have  been  known  to  march  six  days  together  without 
food,  except,  perhaps,  the  inner  bark  of  tiees.  and  in  such 
clothing  and  shoeing  as  mere  birch-bark."  If  such  a  teat  were 
physically  possible,  he  is  entitled  to  some  credit  for  the  moder- 
ation with  which  he  adinits  that  it  ""has  hardly  ever  been 
equalled."  And  for  the  purpose  of  invoking  confidence  in  the 
statement,  he  need  not  have  conceded  the  propriety  of  disting- 
uishing between  the  inner  and  outer  bark  of  the  trees.  If  the 
Jarl  had  had  an  army  of  Dr.  Tanners,  he  might  have  made  such 
a  march  in  a  desert  country;  and  perhaps  he  could  have  sub- 
sisted them  on  such  food  as  the  inner  (or  outer)  barPi  of  the 
Dogs  of  War. 

In  one  of  his  biographies,  covering  two  hundred  and  fifty 
seven  pages,  the  world  is  apprised  of  the  fact  that  the  father  of 
his  hero  owned  a  cow  which  "had  calved."  and  that  "young 
John,  still  in  petticoats,  was  permitted  to  go,  holding  by  his 
father's  hand,  and  look  at  the  newly  arrived  calf;  a  mystery 
which  he  surveyed  with  open  intent  eyes,  and  the  silent  exer- 


i:j8  ethics  of  literature. 

cise  of  all  the  scientific  faculties  he  had ;  verv  strange  mystery 
indeed,  this  new  arrival,  and  fresh  denizen  of  our  Universe; 
'Wull't  eat  a  bodv  .'''  said  John  in  his  first  practical  Scotch, 
inquiring  into  the  tendencies  this  mystery  might  have  to  fall 
upon  a  little  fellow  and  consume  him  as  provision." 

Prosy  old  Mother  Goose  in  men's  clothes.  This  biography 
which  is  composed  la.pgely  of  letters  from  the  hero  to  the  bio- 
grapher, contains  one  in  which  the  hero  informs  the  biographer 
that  his  ■  "little  Charlotte  desires  me  to  tell  you  that  she  has  new 
shoes  for  her  Doll,  which  she  will  show  you  when  you  come."" 
In  another  the  hero  very  elaborately  hesitates  between  encom- 
ium and  stricture  on  the  Sartor  Resartus:  or  rather,  indulges 
immoderat-ely  in  both;  but  closes  with  the  courteous  confession 
that  he  had  not  done  justice  to  his  "own  sense  of  the  genius 
and  moral  energy  of  the  book."' 

If  the  reader  wonders  who  was  the  hero  of  the  biography 
he  will  still  wonder  after  hearing  his  name.  From  the  biog- 
raphy however  it  may  be  learned  that  his  name  was  John 
Sterling,  that  he  was  prepared  for.  but  losing  his  health  tailed 
in  the  ministry;  that  he  moved  about  for  a  time  seeking 
health,  and  writing  letters  to  his  friends,  including  his  biogra- 
pher: that  he  also  wrote  Spring  Poetry,  the  following  among 
other  specimens  of  which  his  biographer  has.  unfortunately  for 
his  Hero"s  fame,  given  to  the  World. 

"But  Anne,  at  last  her  mute  devotions  o"er, 
Perceived  the  fact  she  had  forgot  before 
Of  her  too  shocking  nudity;  and  shame 
Flushed  from  her  heart  o'er  all  the  snowy  frame; 
And  struck  from  top  to  toe  with  burning  dread, 
She  blew  the  light  out  and  escaped  to  bed." 

How  refreshing  it  seems  to  turn  from  such  sickening  slime 
to  some  of  the  finest  flashes  of  humor,  blended  with  serio- 
comic yet  boiia-fide  criticism  of  the  then  prevalent  rage  for 
biography;  which  are  the  more  ironical  that  they  appear  in 
some  of  his  own  biographical  notices.  In  a  hybrid  or  cross 
between  an  obituary  notice  and  a  biographical  sketch  of  one 
Jean  Paul  Frederick  Richter  he  says.  "Dr.  Johnson,  it  is  said, 
when  he  first  heard  of  Boswell's  intention  to  write  a  life  of  him. 


PHILOSOPHIC  FUME,  MYSTICISM,   ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     1 29 

announced  with  decision  enough,  that,  if  he  thought  Boswell 
really  meant  to  ivn'te  his  life,  he  would  prevent  it  by  taking 
Boswell's.  That  great  authors  should  actually  employ  this 
preventive  against  bad  biographies  is  a  thing  we  would  by  no 
means  recommend;  but  the  truth  is,  that,  as  rich  as  we  are  in 
biography,  a  well  zvriiten  life  is  aliuosf  as  rare  as  a  icell  spent 
life."  *  *  *  "Except  by  name,  Jean  Paul  Frederick  Richter 
is  little  known  outside  of  Germany.  The  only  thing  connected 
with  him,  we  think,  that  has  reached  this  country,  is  his  say- 
ing, imported  by  Madam  DeStael,  and  thankfully  pocketed  by 
most  newspaper  critics:  'Providence  has  given  to  the  French 
the  empire  of  the  land,  to  the  English  that  of  the  sea,  to  the 
Germans  that  of  the — air.'  Of  this  last  element,  indeed,  his 
own  genius  might  easily  seem  to  have  been  a  denizen." 

An  adventurer  called  Count  Cagliostro,  whose  stock  in  trade 
was  effrontery  and  tact,  and  whose  occupation  was  imposture, 
is  immortalized  in  seventy  pages  of  the  most  vituperative,  ex- 
travagant, and  enigmatical  denunciation  conceivable.  The 
biographer  narrates  his  birth  as  follows,  "  *  *  *  Know, 
then,  that  in  the  year  1743,  in  the  citv  of  Palermo,  in  Sicily,  the 
family  of  Signor  Pietro  Balsamo  a  shop-keeper,  were  exhilar- 
ated by  the  birth  of  a  Boy.  Such  occurrences  have  now 
become  so  frequent  that  miraculous  as  they  are,  they  occasion 
little  astonishment: — old  Balsamo  for  a  space,  indeed,  laid 
down  his  ell-wands  and  unjust  balances:  but  for  the  rest,  met 
the  event  with  equanimity.  Of  the  possetings,  junketings, 
gossipings,  and  other  ceremonial  rejoicings,  transacted  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  the  country,  for  welcome  to  a  new-comer, 
not  the  faintest  tradition  has  survived;  enough,  that  the  small 
new-comer,  hitherto  a  mere  ethnic  or  heathen,  is  in  a  few  days 
made  a  Christian  of,  or  as  we  vulgarly  say,  christened;  by  the 
name  of  Guiseppe.  A  fat.  red.  globular  kind  of  fellow,  not 
under  nine  pounds  avoirdupoise,  the  bold  imagination  can 
figure  him  to  be ;  if  not  proofs,  there  are  indications  that  suffi- 
ciently betoken  as  much.  Of  his  teething  and  swaddling  ad- 
ventures, of  his  scaldings.  squallings,  pukings,  and  purgings, 
the  strictest  search   into  history  can  discover  nothing;  not  so 


130  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

much  as  the  epoch  when  he  passed  out  of  long  clothes  stands 
noted  in  the  Fasti  of  Sicily." 

The  course  of  the  New-comer  is  then  traced  in  terms  egreg- 
iously  enigmatical,  and  embellished  with  frequent  "Flights"  of 
fantastic  philosophising  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  not  even 
remotely  germain  to  the  biography,  until  he  is  found  in  the 
heat  of  life's  battle.  "Beppo  then,  like  a  Noah's  raven,  is  out 
upon  that  watery  waste  of  dissolute,  beduped,  distracted  Eu- 
ropean Life,  to  see  if  there  is  any  carrion  there.  One  unguided 
little  raven,  in  the  wide-weltering  Mother  of  Dead-Dogs: — will 
he  not  come  to  harm ;  will  he  not  be  snapped  up.  drowned, 
starved,  and  washed  to  the  Devil  there  }  No  fear  of  him — for 
a  time.  His  eye  (or  scientific  judgment)  it  is  true,  as  yet  takes 
in  only  a  small  section  of  it;  but  then  his  scent  (instinct  of 
genius)  is  prodigious;  several  endowments,  forgery  and  others, 
he  has  unfolded  into  talents:  the  two  sources  of  all  quack-talent, 
Cunning  and  Impudence  are  his  in  richest  measure." 

It  seems  strange  that  one  assuming  the  airs  and  proportions 
of  a  High  Priest  in  Literature,  a  connoisseur  in  Criticism,  a 
modeller  or  moulder  of  taste,  a  historian  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, of  Cromwell  and  Frederick  the  Great,  could  have  the  time 
or  the  inclination  to  trace  a  vagrant  Qtiack  through  a  half  cen- 
tury of  cozenage  and  adventure  and  hide  and  seek  with  the 
Police  all  over  Europe.  But  the  consequence  of  his  subject,  its 
importance  to  the  reader,  as  well  as  the  manner  in  which  he 
dealt  with  it,  seemed  to  be  of  little  concern  to  him.  It  was  his 
business  to  zt'r//^,  and  the  World's  duty  to  read:  and  having 
once  obtained  recognition  he  kept  the  floor  until  he  had  shown 
Mankind  how  one  with  the  rarest  gifts,  with  almost  super- 
human energy,  with  an  apparently  inexhaustible  fund  of  histor- 
ical fiict,  with  inflnite  versatility,  with  the  deepest  and  sound- 
est philosophical  acumen,  with  absolute  mastery  of  language, 
and  marvelous  copiousness  of  thought,  could  squander  the 
whole  in  a  disgusting  serio-comic  exhibition  of  himself. 

The  facts  he  has  perpetuated  are  abundant  and  importani, 
the  philosophy  he  has  promulgated  is  deep  and  true:  but  both 
are  to  be  extracted  from  a  mazy  mass  of  unique  obscurity, 
enigma  and  riddle;  the  key  to  which  in  most  instances  is  the 


PHILOSOPHIC  FUME,   MYSTICISM,   ECCENTRICITY  AND  EGOTISM.     I31 

fantastic  self-assertion  of  its  writer.  To  the  question  what  has 
he  done  for  Literature  ?  it  may  be  fairly  answered,  he  has  taken 
his  place  and  asserted  himself  therein,  in  attitude  and  ejacula- 
tion, at  once  the  contortionist  and  clown  of  a  Literary  Circus. 
But  I  have  too  far  and  too  tediously  traced  this  traducer  and 
encomiast  of  human  character.  Further  detail  were  unprofit- 
able, and,  I  need  not  add.  unpalatable.  But  1  think  I  have 
shown  that  all  1  have  claimed  for  him  as  a  really  profound  phil- 
osopher is  but  a  moderate  estimate  of  him  in  that  respect,  and 
that  all  that  1  have  denounced  him  for  in  the  way  of  eccentric 
egotism  and  blatant  black-guardism  is  but  a  charitable  char- 
acterization of  him  in  that  respect.  In  the  same  strain  he  pur- 
sues the  same  vein  throughout  the  great  mass  of  his  collossal 
works,  and  seems  to  be  in  the  Zenith  of  his  glory  when  "body- 
ing forth"  some  idea  superbly  sublime,  in  terms  grotesquely 
ridiculous. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE. 

Translators  Should  Translate  and  not  Paraphrase — Historians  Should  Narrate 
and  not  Philosophize — Equivalence  of  Thought  Psychologically  Possible — 
Equivalence  of  Expression  Philologically  Possible— Literary  Economy — • 
Recriminations  of  Translators  and  Editors — Modern  Reader's  Assurance 
that  He  gets  the  Meaning  of  the  Ancient  Writer — Provisional  Validity  of 
Lucretius'  Philosophy — Economy  of  Nature  in  Time  and  Space^ — Religion 
and  Superstition — Parallel  Between  Invocations  of  Lucretius  and  Milton — 
Disagreement  Among  Translators — Improvised  Data  of  Philcsophy — Its 
Weakness  for  Parallels — Primordial  Atom  Impossible — Annihilation  and 
Diminution  Impossible — Self-Propulsion  Impossible — Nature  Only  Another 
Name  for  the  Almighty — Freedom  Attributed  to  Irregularity  of  Voluntary 
Atomical  Motion — Mediaeval  Papacy's  Attempt  to  Enslave  Thought — Mor- 
tality and  Immortality  Conclusively  Proved  by  Reasoning  of  Lucretius  and 
Socrates — Insuperable  Antinomy — Disgusting  Allusions  of  Philosophers — 
Literary  Toadyism. 

A  translator  of  an  ancient  poetical  philosophy,  in  some 
remarks  on  the  life  and  poem  of  his  author,  has  attributed  the 
error  in  biography  and  history  to  the  fact  that  "the  learned  con- 
jecture, and  the  less  learned  aftlrm ;"  the  result  of  which  would 
seem  to  be  that  the  unlearned  might  forever  remain  so. 

He  might  with  sufficient  propriety  have  included  translation 
in  the  same  stricture,  as  his  own  declarations  in  the  same 
remarks  sufficiently  disclose  its  errors  and  their  causes.  In 
history,  biography,  and  translation,  the  object  ought  to  be  a 
faithful  and  accurate  rendition  of  the  truth;  the  true  office  of 
the  historian  is  to  narrate  the  facts  relating  to  his  subject;  and 
that  of  the  translator  is  to  translate  a  writing  from  one  language 
into  another. 

If  the  historian,  instead  of  or  in  addition  to  narrating  the 
facts,  makes  what  he  may  deem  learned  deductions  therefrom, 
or  elaborately  philosophizes  thereon,  he  may  display  his  own 
genius  to  a  world,  which  might  be  more  edified  in  knowing 
what  was  and  is,  that  in  knowing  what  a  profuse  pedant  may 
think  of  it.  If  the  translator,  instead  of  rendering  what  is  said 
in  one  language  into  its  actual  equivalent  in  another,  para- 
phrases,   amplifies,    or  abridges   it,  he   may  show  his   reader 


ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY   IN   MODERN    ATTIRE.  1^5 

what  he  in  his  scholastic  wisdom  thinks  his  author  ought  to 
have  said,  without  letting  him  very  deeply  into  the  secret  of 
what  he  actually  has  said. 

It  is  within  the  principles  of  psychology  that  there  may  be 
actual  equivalence  of  thought  among  all  the  cultured  races;  it  is 
also  within  the  principles  of  philology  that  any  thought  ex- 
pressible in  any  language  may  be  rendered  in  terms  exactly 
equivalent  in  the  language  of  any  cukured  race.  Language  is 
commensurate  with  thought,  and  universally  adequate  to  its 
office ;  and  its  office  is  not,  as  some  cynic  has  said,  to  conceal 
or  disguise  thought. 

In  most  translations  in  vogue  there  are,  in  the  introductory 
parts  and  in  marginal  notes,  many  severe  strictures  upon  the 
rendition  in  other  translations  of  what  are  said  to  be  important 
parts  of  the  original.  The  great  majority  of  persons  desiring 
to  know  the  content  of  writings  in  languages  different  from 
their  mother  tongue,  cannot  afford  to  acquire  the  use  of  such 
language;  and  to  obtain  such  knowledge  they  must  rely  upon 
the  translators,  who  frequently,  and  with  contemptible  pedan- 
try, transcribe  lengthy  and  perhaps  important  passages  of  the 
alleged  original  text  into  the  alleged  translation. 

It  cannot  be  very  gratifying  to  the  reader  to  find  the  trans- 
lators disputing  about  the  correctness  of  each  other's  renditions 
of  what  they  call  important  parts  of  the  original,  and  accusing 
each  other  of  paraphrasing,  amplifying,  abridging,  misunder- 
standing and  corrupting  it.  Such  behavior  will  convince  him 
that  there  is  dishonesty  or  inefficiency  about  it  somewhere,  and 
without  a  knowledge  of  the  original,  in  which  case  a  transla- 
tion were  superfluous,  he  becomes  a  disappointed  and  disgust- 
ed spectator  of  a  reproachful  wrangle  among  the  learned,  with 
no  means  of  knowing,  and  with  but  little  reason  to  believe, 
that  he  gets  the  actual  equivalent  of  the  original  from  any  of 
them. 

Judging  from  the  past  this  may  be  destined  to  be  a  mere 
fruitless  complaint,  but  no  candid  reader  will  say  it  is  an  unjust 
one.  Very  few  have  taken  the  pains,  or  contented  themselves, 
to  make  methodical  statements  or  records  of  the  facts  forming 
the  body  of  their  alleged  histories,  and  if  they  are  candid  in  their 


134  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

mutual  criticisms  still  fewer  have  given  the  actual  equivalent  of 
the  writings  they  have  assumed  to  translate.  Those  sufticiently 
learned  and  who  have  assumed  the  duties  of  either  office  gen- 
erally write  as  though  they  imagine  they  were  too  learned,  and 
instead  of  furnishing  their  readers  with  the  actual  substance  and 
leaving  them  to  their  own  inferences,  they  generally  make  of 
their  work  an  occasion  to  display  their  own  genius  and  philo- 
sophical acumen,  and  relegate  the  historical  fact  they  record, 
and  the  actual  product  of  the  author  they  translate  to  a  com- 
parative obscurity. 

Many  histories  cover  one  and  the  same  period,  relate  to  the 
same  general  subjects,  and  record  identical  facts  which  come  from 
the  same  sources.  If  thev  agree  in  substance,  some  are  neces- 
sarily superfluous  and  could  well  be  dispensed  with;  if  they 
disagree,  some  are  worse  than  superfluous  and  should  not  have 
been  written.  Agreement  here  relates  to  narration  of  sub- 
stantive fact — all  in  excess  of  which  is  neither  biography  nor 
history,  but  is  the  learned  superfluity  which  goes  current  as 
philosophy.  If  it  is  justifiable  as  philosophy,  and  is  merely  to 
be  based  on  and  illustrated  bv  the  historical  fact  chronicled  in 
the  same  connection,  then  the  philosophy  is  the  real  occasion 
for  so  augmenting  the  volume  of  literature,  and  no  more  fact 
should  be  chronicled  in  such  connection  than  will  suffice  for  the 
necessary  data  and  illustration :  and  the  work  should  sail  under 
its  true  colors,  it  should  avow  itself  a  philosophy  and  not  a 
history. 

In  vindication  of  this  complaint  as  to  the  rendition  by  some 
persons  of  the  writings  of  others,  1  quote  from  one  of  the  trans- 
lators of  Lucretius.  After  naming  numerous  editions  of  the 
alleged  original  text  he  says,  "But  all  other  editions  were 
thrown  into  the  shade  by  those  of  Lambinus  of  which  the  first 
appeared  in  1^63,  the  second  in  156s.  and  the  third  in  i  S70. 
Of  all  editors  and  expounders  of  Lucretius,  Lambinus  still  de- 
serves to  stand  at  the  head.  He  is  accused  by  Wakefield  of 
iiiconsulta  temerilas,  injudicious  rashness,  in  intruding  his  own 
conjectures  into  the  text;  and  by  Eichstadt,  of  having  had  too 
high  an  opinion  of  his  own  judgment  and  ability;  but  though 
there  may  be  some  grounds  for  such  accusations,  his  character 


ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE.  I35 

as  an  editor  is  still  of  the  highest  order.  He  brought  to  his 
work  a  powerful  mind,  and,  knowing  that  Lucretius  always 
intended  to  write  sense,  he  took  upon  himself  to  put  sense, 
perhaps  at  times  too  arbitrarily,  into  verses  which  had  been 
left  meaningless  by  transcribers." 

So  an  edtior  whose  character  as  such  is  of  the  highest  order 
has  put  sense  into  passages  of  the  original  text,  "perhaps  at 
times  too  arbitrarily."  If  the  transcribers  had  left  such  pass- 
ages meaningless,  it  may  have  been  because  they  found  them 
so.  They  may  have  been  too  conscientious  to  put  sense  into 
them.  As  transcribers  it  was  their  office  to  make  literal  copies 
of  the  original,  and  the  law  presumes  they  did  their  duty;  and 
but  for  the  strictures  above  mentioned,  and  the  vicarious  con- 
fession above  quoted;  it  would  presume  that  the  editors  and 
translators  have  done  theirs. 

The  translator  in  question  mentions  sixteen  editions  of  the 
alleged  original,  all  of  which  he  says  are  in  many  respects  cor- 
rupted and  unfaithful;  and  eight  English  translations,  and  says 
they  are  all  more  or  less  inaccurate,  and  accuses  one  translator 
of  inserting  five  of  his  own  lines  between  the  tenth  and  six- 
teenth lines  of  the  first  book.  If  his  charges  are  true,  some  of 
the  matter  he  has  translated  may  not  be  that  of  his  alleged 
author;  how  much,  is  a  matter  of  mere  conjecture.  In  such 
case  the  reader  can  have  but  little  assurance  that  he  gets  a 
single  thought  of  Lucretius'  from  the  alleged  literal  translation 
following  such  damaging  declarations.  As  above  indicated,  he 
must  take  it  on  trust  from  the  translator,  who  in  turn  appears 
to  have  taken  it  on  distrust  from  the  transcribers  and  editors ; 
and  to  have  accused  every  editor  and  all  other  translators  of 
inaccuracy,  even  the  editor  whose  character  as  such  is  of  the 
highest  order. 

In  some  instances  there  may  be  good  reason  to  believe  that 
the  modern  reader  of  the  ancient  classic  gets  substantially  the 
content  of  the  original,  among  the  best  of  which  reasons  may 
be  the  evidence  inherent  in  the  body  of  the  composition  itself. 
Perhaps  the  most  convincing  evidence  of  the  validity  of  the 
claim  that  the  writings  of  the  Bible  are  of  divine  inspiration,  is 
that  to  be  found  in  the   writings  themselves.     While  it  might 


1^6  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

SO  far  as  we  know  be  possible  that  they  are  not,  and  probable 
that  in  successive  transcriptions  editions  and  translations  they 
may  have  lost  some  of  their  pristine  puritv.  and  mav  have  been 
more  or  less  corrupted,  yet  taken  entire,  they  are  so  far  out  of 
the  usual  course  of  the  literature  of  any  age,  that  it  is  more  dif- 
ficult to  believe  they  are  a  mere  human  invention,  than  to  be- 
lieve they  are  what  they  purport  to  be.  Notwithstanding 
the  great  number  of  persons  who  appear  to  have  written  them, 
the  ages  intervening,  the  vastlv  different  stages  or  degrees  of 
civilization  prevailing,  and  different  circumstances  under  which 
they  are  said  to  have  been  written,  they  might,  so  far  as  their 
own  characteristics  as  a  literary  composition  are  concerned,  all 
be  attributed  to  one  and  the  same  pen.  So  it  may  be  with  some 
of  the  philosophy  of  the  sages  of  antiquity,  but  not  conspicu- 
ously so  with  that  now  attributed  to  the  poet  Lucretius.  It 
bears  no  internal  indication  that  it  was  not  composed  by  manv, 
but  rather  the  contrary. 

The  qualitative,  relative,  or  provisional  validitv  of  some  of 
his  reasoning,  is  made  more  problematical  than  it  otherwise 
need  be,  by  a  dispute  among  his  translators  as  to  the  proper 
rendition  of  the  word  religione.  Some  contend  that  it  is  relig- 
ion, others  that  it  is  superstition.  The  provisional  validitv  of 
his  reasoning  is  that  with  reference  to  the  data  then  available, 
the  stage  of  science  prevalent  when  he  wrote.  By  subsequent 
investigation  many  of  his  ideas  are  exploded,  which,  as  to  the 
data  then  available  may  have  been  rationally  legitimate  deduc- 
tions. When  he  objected  to  universal  centripetal  gravitation, 
and  insisted  on  absolute  vacuums,  the  earth  had  not  been  cir- 
cumnavigated, and  the  telescope  had  not  explored  our  part  of 
the  sidereal  system  and  located  its  center  in  the  Sun. 

But  apart  from  such  considerations,  and  on  his  own  hypo- 
theses as  to  the  data  then  available,  the  validity  of  his  reason- 
ing is  in  some  measure  to  be  estimated  according  as  he  meant 
either  religion  or  superstition  by  the  term  Religione]  his  philos- 
ophy appearing  to  have  been  written  to  overthrow  whichever 
it  was  he  meant.  His  translator  says,  "  *  *  *  neither  Epic- 
urus nor  Lucretius  attacked  the  belief  in  the  gods,  and  in  pun- 
ishment after  death,  as  a  Superstition,  but  as  a  Religion.     It  is 


ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE.  I )'] 

a  Superstition  to  us,  but  it  was  a  religion  to  men  of  those  days." 
And  he  insists  that  by  the  term  Religioiie,  Lucretius  meant 
religion,  and  that  he  did  not  believe  in  divine  intervention  in 
human  affairs;  but  he  names  four  other  translators  who  he  says 
all  "concur  in  rendering  this  word  by  Superstition."  If  that 
which  may  be  a  superstition  to  one  may  be  a  religion  to  an- 
other, it  can  have  no  invariable  validitv  of  character  itself,  but 
must  be  to  this  one  and  that  one  just  whatever  their  respective 
mental  moulds  may  make  of  it.  Otherwise  the  difference  be- 
tween religion  and  superstition  is  unintelligible,  or  rather  we 
cannot  intelligibly  conceive  an  actual  ditference  in  kind  between 
them. 

So  it  will  appear  that  the  provisional  validity  of  the  reason- 
ing in  the  philosophy  of  one  who  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  great- 
est philosophers  of  antiquity,  depends  in  some  measure  upon 
his  meaning  by  the  use  of  one  word,  about  which  there  is 
among  the  learned  an  irreconcilable  dispute,  and  among  both 
learned  and  unlearned,  little  if  any  certainty  that  he  used  it  at 
all;  his  greatest  editor  having  taken  "upon  himself  to  put  sense, 
perhaps  at  times  too  arbitrarily  into  verses  which  had  been  left 
meaningless  by  transcribers." 

No  reasoning  can  be  valid,  on  any  supposable  hypothesis, 
which  attempts  to  account  for  Nature  or  any  of  its  phenomena 
otherwise  than  as  the  manifestation  of  a  Power  (call  it  divine 
or  otherwise)  which  is  hopelessly  and  forever  beyond  the  com- 
prehension of  the  human  mind.  Modern  metaphvsic  manifests 
this,  or  the  whole  system  is  worse  than  idle.  If  we  know  any- 
thing of  nature,  we  know  that  nothing  therein  of  which  we 
can  conceive  is  entirely  without  purpose.  That  some  of  the 
purposes  of  some  of  its  phenomena  may  not  appear  to  us  to  be 
good,  may  be  due  to  our  inability  to  discern  them,  and  even  if 
some  of  them  are  known  to  be  essentiallv  evil,  they  are  still  the 
purposes  of  the  existence  of  the  matter  or  phenomena  in  nature 
manifesting  them. 

We  know  that  time  and  space  are,  and  that  they  are  tor 
some  purpose,  that  they  comprehend  all  phenomena  of  which 
we  can  conceive,  whereby  one  of  their  purposes  is  known,  and 
known  to  be  so  far  fulfilled.     We  know  that  there  is  no  such 


138  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

thing  as  absolute  waste,  destruction,  or  annihilation  of  any 
thing  oC  which  we  can  conceive,  tangible  or  intangible,  cor- 
poreal or  incorporeal,  within  the  economic  system  of  nature;  at 
least  that  the  mind  cannot  conceive  such  absolute  waste,  de- 
struction, or  annihilation.  We  know  that  all  tangible  phe- 
nomena of  which  we  can  conceive  as  being,  can  occupy  only 
so  small  a  portion  of  space  that  the  proportion  of  their  volume 
as  we  can  conceive  it,  to  that  of  the  immensity  of  space,  is  so 
small  that  no  comparative  relation  or  proportion  between  them 
or  in  their  extent  can  be  imagined.  We  know  then  that  there 
is  an  inconceivably  vast  extent  of  space  unoccupied  by  any 
phenomena  of  which  we  can  conceive;  at  least  that  the  mind 
cannot  conceive  of  matter  and  its  phenomena  as  occupying  all 
Space,  nor,  comparativelv  speaking,  anv  considerable  portion 
of  it. 

From  what  we  know  of  the  economy  ol' nature,  we  have  no 
right  to  assume  that  the  apparently  unoccupied  portion  of  the 
extent  of  space  is  really  unoccupied  and  without  a  purpose. 
What  occupies  or  pervades  it,  and  what  is  its  purpose  ?  is  it 
not  occupied  and  pervaded  by  the  Ubiquitous  Spirit  of  its  di- 
vine Architect,  the  Originator  of  the  purpose  everywhere  mani- 
fest in  all  we  know  of  in  nature  ?  And  does  He  not  occupy 
and  pervade  it  to  execute  such  purpose,  and  such  other  in- 
scrutable will  as  He  mav  have  ?  Reasoning  from  what  we 
know,  must  we  not  answer  in  the  afhrmative  .''  Does  not  such 
a  belief  lie  at  the  very  base  of  any  possibly  true  religion  ?  If  so, 
and  if  Lucretius  used  the  term  1{eIii{ione  in  the  sense  of  religion 
as  now  understood,  the  reasoning  in  his  philosophy  (as  trans- 
lated by  Watson)  is  necessarily  fallacious  even  on  his  own 
hypothesis,  considering  the  data  reasoned  from  and  the  end 
reasoned  to;  while  if  he  meant  superstition  and  superstition  is 
essentially  different  from  religion,  some  part  of  it  may  have 
been  valid,  as  relative  to  the  data  available  in  his  time.  When 
it  is  remembered  that  he  wrote  more  than  nineteen  hundred 
years  ago,  when  polytheistic  image  worship  was  the  religion 
of  State,  the  learned  consulted  the  haruspices  and  sibylline 
leaves,  and  the  most  important  affairs  turned  upon   the  omens 


ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE,  1^9 

of  entrails  and  tlights  of  birds,  the  wisdom  of  some  of  his   pos- 
tulates and  deductions  (if  they  are  his)  is  truly  wonderful. 

Assuming,  as  I  believe  some  parts  of  the  philosophy  justify 
me  in  doing,  that  bv  the  term  Religione.  if  he  used  it.  Lucretius 
meant  superstition  in  a  sense  essentially  different  from  religion, 
his  purpose  appears  to  have  been  to  emancipate  the  Roman 
mind  from  a  base  thralldom  to  that  superstition,  and  thereby 
promote  rather  than  oppose  what  he  may  have  regarded  relig- 
ion.    According  to  one  of  his  translators  he  exclaims, 

"O  wretched  mortals— race  perverse  and  blind. 
Through  what  dread  dark,  what  perilous  pursuits, 
Pass  ye  this  round  of  being,  know  ye  not 
Of  all  ye  toil  for  nature  Nothing  asks, 
But  for  the  body  freedom  from  disease 
And  sweet,  unanxious  quiet,  for  the  mind  ?" 

He  seems  to  have  been  religious,  as  he  understood  religion. 
According  to  the  literal  translation  in  question  he  begins  his 
philosophy  by  invoking  "Bountiful  Venus,  mother  of  the  race 
of  Aeneas,  delight  of  gods  and  men,  who,  beneath  the  gliding 
constellations  of  heaven,  tillest  the  ship-bearing  sea  and  the 
fruit-producing  earth ;  since  by  thy  influence  every  kind  of  liv- 
ing creature  is  conceived,  and  springing  forth  hails  the  light  of 
the  sun.  *  *  *  Since  thou  alone  dost  govern  all  things  in 
nature,  neither  does  anything  without  thee  spring  into  the 
ethereal  realms  of  light,  nor  anything  become  gladsome  or 
lovely;  1  desire  thee  to  be  my  associate  in  this  my  song,  which 
1  am  essaying  to  compose  on  the  nature  of  things,  for  the  in- 
struction of  my  friend  Memmius,  whom  thou,  O  goddess,  hast 
willed  at  all  times  to  excel,  graced  with  every  gift."  This 
recalls  Milton's  invocation  of  the 

"     *  *  *     heavenly  muse,  that  on  the  secret  top 

Of  Oreb,  or  of  Sinai,  didst  inspire 

That  Shepherd  who  first  taught  the  chosen  seed 

in  the  beginning  how  the  heavens  and  earth 

Rose  out  of  chaos;  or,  if  Zion  hill 

Delight  the  more,  and  Siloa's  brook  that  llowed 

Fast  by  the  Oracle  of  God;  I  thence 

Invoke  thy  aid  to  my  adventurous  song, 

That  with  no  middle  flight  intends  to  soar 


i40  EtHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

Above  the  Aonian  mount,  while  it  pursues 
Things  unattempted  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme. 
And  chiefly  thou,  O  Spirit,  that  dost  prefer 
Before  ail  temples  the  upright  heart  and  pure. 
Instruct  me,  for  thou  knowesl;  thou  from  the  first 
Was  present,  and,  with  mighty  wings  outspread, 
Dove-like  sat'st  brooding  o'er  the  vast  abyss 
And  madst  it  pregnant." 

The  main  difference  between  the  two  invocations  is  in  that 
of  the  heathen  being  full  of  animation,  while  that  of  the  Chris- 
tian is  full  of  stately  gloom,  the  difference  in  the  names  by 
which  thev  knew  their  Deities  being  of  but  little  consequence. 
But  1  am  at  a  loss  for  some  means  of  harmonizing  the  chief 
postulate  of  Lucretius'  invocation,  with  that  of  the  one  hundred 
and  tiftv-ninth  line  of  the  first  book  of  his  philosophy,  that  "all 
things  are  done  without  the  agency  of  the  gods."  According 
to  the  invocation  it  would  seem  that  very  little  if  anything  was 
done  without  the  influence  of  a  goddess;  but  it  may  have  been 
at  one  of  these  points  that  some  of  his  editors  or  translators 
have  taken  upon  themselves  to  put  sense  into  his  verses.  It  is 
scarcely  reasonable  to  suppose  that  one  who  in  his  time,  place, 
and  circumstances,  was  capable  of  some  of  the  thought  in  the 
philosophy  attributed  to  him,  would  run  recklessly  into  such 
palpable  contradiction;  or  would,  in  the  beginning  of  such  a 
work,  invoke  the  association  of  that  which,  by  the  very  invo- 
cation he  must  recognize  as  a  divine  Superintendent  of  terrestrial 
atfairs,  unless  he  believed  in  such  divine  superintendence;  and 
such  belief  would  in  most  minds  constitute  a  religion.  It  would 
be  a  religion  to  us,  and  we  must  suppose  it  was  a  religion  to 
him.  Unless  he  had  such  belief,  and  his  philosophy  (not  that 
of  those  who  have  put  sense  into  his  verses)  consistently  har- 
monized with  it,  the  philosophy  was  a  self-destructive  contra- 
diction. If  he  had  such  belief,  and  has  not  frequently  stultified 
himself,  he  has  been  terribly  mangled  by  the  butchers  through 
whose  ingenuity  and  scholasticism  his  alleged  philosophy  has 
been  preserved  and  transmitted  to  us. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  those  of  the  learned  who  have  con- 
cerned themselves  most  with  it  cannot  agree  as  to  some  points 
vital  to  its  validity  as  a  process  of  reasoning,  and  that  some  of 


ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE.  I4I 

them  have  taken  upon  themselves  to  put  sense,  presumably 
their  own,  into  his  verses;  and  in  view  of  the  irreconcilable  con- 
tradiction between  various  parts  of  it.  the  profound  wisdom  of 
some  of  the  propositions  and  the  grotesque  absurdity  of  others, 
the  student  of  what  is  called  Lucretius'  Philosophy  as  now  ren- 
dered in  the  English  language,  can  have  no  means  of  knowing 
whether  he  reads  Lucretius,  or  him  and  a  half  dozen  of  his  am- 
bitious and  scholarly  mutilators. 

There  is  probablv  no  more  groundless  proposition  pro- 
pounded in  any  philosophy,  than  the  attempt  to  attribute  free- 
dom of  action  in  animated  nature  to  an  alleged  deviation  from 
a  straight  line  in  atomical  motion,  which  deviation  is  onlv 
claimed  to  be  infinitesimal ;  and  is  assumed  because  it  cannot 
be  proved  to  be  absolutely  direct  on  account  of  the  im percept- 
ibility of  the  atoms  and  their  motion,  and  contrary  to  the  anal- 
ogy of  the  perceptible  motion  of  perceptible  matter.  One 
translator  has  him  sav  "  *  *  *  if  all  motion  is  connected  and 
dependent,  and  a  new  movement  perpetually  arises  from  a 
former  one  in  a  certain  order,  and.  if  the  primary  elements  do 
not  produce  anv  commencement  of  motion  bv  deviating  from 
the  straight  line  to  break  the  laws  of  fate,  so  that  cause  mav 
not  follow  cause  in  infinite  succession,  whence  comes  this 
freedom  of  will  to  all  animals  in  the  world  ?  Whence  1  say  is 
this  freedom  of  action  wrested  from  the  fates,  bv  means  of 
which  we  go  wheresoever  inclination  leads  each  of  us  ?  whence 
is  it  that  we  ourselves  turn  aside  and  alter  our  motions,  not  at 
any  fixed  part  of  space,  but  just  as  our  mind  has  prompted  us  ? 
For  doubtless,  in  such  matters  his  own  will  gives  a  com- 
mencement of  action  to  every  man ;  and  hence  motions  are  dif- 
fused throughout  the  limbs."  "For  Weight  forbids  that  all 
effects  be  produced  by  strokes,  and  as  if  bv  external  force;  but 
the  circumstance  that  our  mind  itself  is  not  influenced  bv 
external  necessity  in  performing  every  action,  and  is  not,  as  if 
under  subjection,  compelled  only  to  bear  and  suffer,  this  cir- 
cumstance the  slight  declination  of  the  primordial  atoms  causes 
though  it  takes  place  neither  in  any  determinate  part  of  space, 
nor  at  any  determinate  time." 

Another  translator  puts  the  proposition  in  the  first  of  these 


142  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

two  quotations  thus,  "Whence  is  our  liberty  of  action  ?  Ask 
of  the  atoms  themselves;  if  their  motion  be  invariably  direct, 
there  arises  from  this  motion  a  chain  of  fate  and  necessity;  if 
there  be  collision,  (supposing  collision  to  take  place  with  per- 
fectly direct  motion)  there  arises  from  it  the  same  necessity. 
To  declension  from  the  right  line  onlv,  therefoie,  can  liberty  of 
action  be  attributable."     Another  renders  it  thus, 

"Had  all  one  motion  uniform,  the  new 
The  anterior  copying,  if  throughout 
Primordial  seeds  declined  not,  rousing  hence 
Fresh  springs  of  action,  potent  to  subvert 
The  bonds  of  fate,  and  break  the  rigid  chain 
Of  cause  on  cause  eternal, — whence,  resolve, 
Flows  through  the  world  this  freedom  of  the  mind  ? 
This  power  to  act,  though  fate  the  deed  forbid. 
Urged  by  the  will  alone?     The  freeborn  mind 
Acts,  or  forbears,  spontaneous;  these  the  will, 
Doubtless,  alone  determines,  and,  at  once, 
Flies  the  fleet  motion  through  the  assenting  frame." 

That  the  data  is  improvised  upon  the  tlimsv  foundation  of 
mere  absence  of  disproof  is  apparent.  And  the  absurdity  of  the 
theory  of  deviation  is  manifest  when  it  is  "acknowledged  that 
atoms  decline  a  little  from  the  straight  course,  though  it  need 
not  be  admitted  that  they  decline  more  than  the  least  possible 
space;  lest  we  should  seem  to  imagine  oblique  motions,  and 
truth  should  refute  the  supposition.  For  this  we  see  to  be 
obvious  and  manifest,  that  heavy  bodies,  as  far  as  depends  on 
themselves,  cannot,  when  thev  fall  from  above,  advance  obli- 
quely; a  fact  which  you  yourself  may  see.  But  who  is  there 
that  can  see  that  atoms  do  not  all  turn  themselves,  even  in  the 
least,  from  the  straight  direction  of  their  course  r" 

If  they  should  •"tui'n  themselves  even  in  the  least  from  the 
straight  direction  of  their  course.''  their  motion  would  certainly 
be  so  far  oblique,  "and  truth  should  refute  the  supposition." 
If  primordial  atoms  are  universally  inanimate,  if  their  animation 
only  results  from  their  combination,  they  cannot  "all  turn 
themselves  even  in  the  least  from  the  straight  direction  of  their 
course."  If  they  are  inanimate,  and  are  impelled  by  an  extran- 
eous lorce,  so  far  as  they  are  themselves  concerned  their  motion 


ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE.  1 43 

is  a  necessity,  and  the  direction  of  their  motion  is  as  much  a 
necessity  as  the  motion  itself.  And  so  far  as  human  cognition 
or  valid  reasoning  is  concerned,  force  and  necessity  may  reach 
their  goal  as  well  by  a  devious  as  by  a  direct  course. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  worst  drawbacks  from  philosophy  is  its 
weakness  for  parallels,  in  its  eagerness  to  discover  which  it 
resorts  to  all  sorts  of  visionarv  and  absurd  assumptions. 
To  suppose  anv  relation  or  at^lnitv  between  mind  and  primor- 
dial atoms  of  inanimate  matter  requires  a  severe  sti'ain  of  mind; 
and  without  such  relation  or  affinity,  any  supposable  direction 
of  the  motion  of  such  atoms,  however  impelled,  cannot  be  con- 
ceived to  have  any  possible  effect  or  influence  on  the  action  or 
condition  of  mind,  so  far  as  freedom  is  concerned. 

Another  illustration  is  that  by  which  the  difference  in  their 
sizes,  and  the  greater  penetrative  powers  of  some  atoms  is 
proved:  >•  *  *  *  light  passes  through  horn,  but  water  is  re- 
pelled bv  it.  Why  ?  unless  the  atoms  of  light  are  less  than 
those  of  which  the  genial  liquid  of  water  consists."  Another 
translatoi'  puts  it  metrically  thus. 

"Light  the  clear  glass  pervades,  while  Ivmph  recoils; 
Whtnce  springs  this  difference,  but  that  subtler  seeds 
Rear  the  bright  sunbeam  than  the  fountain  form  ?" 

II,  instead  of  horn  or  glass  felt  were  used  in  the  illustration 
it  would  have  yielded  more  moisture  than  light,  notwithstand- 
ing the  difference  in  size  of  the  atoms  and  subtletv  of  the 
seeds.  If  primordial  atoms  are  the  e.xtreme  points  that  "cer- 
tainly exist  without  parts,  and  consist  of  the  least  possible 
natural  substance,"'  of  pure  solidity,  "endowed  with  an  eternal, 
simple,  and  indissoluble  existence  from  which  nature  allows 
nothing  to  be  broken  off."  they  are  ultimate  units,  incapable  of 
further  division.  It  would  seem  then  that  there  could  not  be 
such  a  difference  in  their  sizes  that  some  could  while  others 
could  not  pass  thi'ough  any  particular  substance.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  imagine  a  difference  in  the  size  of  things,  without  im- 
agining some  larger  than  others,  which  cannot  be  if  all  are  the 
least  possible  and  of  pure  solidity.  One  must  also  imagine  the 
possibility  of  the  larger  being  reduced  by  division  to  the  size  or 
the  smaller.     These  are  inexorable  requirements  of  thought,  or 


144  ■  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE.' 

which  there  can  be  no  evasion,  fi'om  which  there  is  no  escape. 

That  the  "primordial  atoms  are  therefore  of  pure  solidity, 
which,  composed  of  the  smallest  points,  closely  cohere,"  means 
nothing.  It  is  a  self-destructive  proposition.  There  can  be  no 
cohesion  in  an  absolute  and  indissoluble  unit.  There  must  be 
parts  to  cohere.  If  atoms  are  composed  of  the  smallest  points, 
which  are  without  parts,  thev  are  without  magnitude,  thev 
have  no  dimension,  neither  length,  breadth,  nor  thickness;  and 
can  impart  none  to  anything  into  the  composition  of  which 
they  enter.  Neither  can  thev  be  of  pure  soliditv.  because  thev 
cannot  be  or  constitute  substance.  Nothing  but  substance  can 
be  imagined  to  have  soliditv.  and  substance  must  have  dimen- 
sion, length,  breadth,  and  thickness,  which  it  cannot  derive 
from  atoms  if  they  are  mere  points,  without  parts  and  without 
dimension.  No  indivisible  dimension  can  be  imagined,  infini- 
tude is  as  palpable  in  the  direction  of  the  minute  as  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  vast,  if  the  alleged  atoms  are  the  least  possible 
points,  without  parts,  thev  are  necessarily  without  dimension, 
and  no  number  of  them  can  constitute  anv  c^uantitv  of  sub- 
stance. It  is  not  admissible  to  speak  of  quantity  of  such  atoms, 
because  without  dimension  quantitv  cannot  be  imagined  any 
more  than  we  can  imagine  dimension  without  parts. 

The  primordial  atoms  of  Lucretius'  philosophv.  indissolu- 
ble and  without  parts,  are  nothing,  thev  never  physically  exist- 
ed. So  his  two  chief  postulates,  that  nothing  is  ever  produced 
from  nothing,  and  that  all  substance  is  produced  from  such 
atoms,  are  contradictory.  He  was  requiring  too  much  of  his 
friend  Memmius  when  he  told  him  he  "must  be  prevailed  upon 
to  acknowledge  that  there  are  bodies  which  exist  having  no 
parts,  and  consist  of  the  least  possible  substance :  and  since 
they  are  so,  since  they  are  indivisible  and  undiminishable.  you 
must  also  concede  that  they  are  eternal."  The  word  least  is 
ruinous  to  this  proposition.  Least  cannot  be  predicated  of  any 
substance  except  with  relation  to  its  dimension  in  comparison 
with  that  of  some  other  substance,  and  indivisible  dimension 
cannot  be  imagined.  The  proposition  however  contains  one 
legitimate  supposition.  If  anything  is  undiminishable  it  must 
be  eternal.     If  it  is  undiminishable  it  cannot  be  annihilated;  it 


ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE.  1 45 

cannot  begin  to  go  out  of  existence.  But  it  need  not  be  indi- 
visible to  be  eternal,  for  division  cannot  be  imagined  as  dimin- 
ution. It  is  mere  separation  of  parts,  change  of  form,  condi- 
tion, and  place. 

Annihilation,  which  cannot  be  thought  at  all  is  more  palp- 
ably unthinkable  without  supposing  diminution,  whether  the 
annihilation  is  attempted  to  be  thought  as  instantaneous,  or  as 
being  ages  in  doing.  Nothing  can  occur  in  time  without  occu- 
pying some  portion  of  time;  nothing  can  be  supposed  to  occur 
at  an  absolute  point  between  two  several  portions  of  time,  and 
without  itself  occupying  some  portion  of  it,  because  time  is 
continuous  and  is  not  interrupted  in  its  course;  and  whatever 
occurs  therein  must  have  some  duration,  be  some  time  in  doing. 
It  is  said  to  be  demonstrated  that  musical  sounds  may  be  pro- 
duced by  vibrations  numbering  four  thousand  in  a  second  of 
time;  but  they  must  each  have  some  duration  or  the  entire 
number  would  not  occupy  a  full  second.  If  it  were  impossible 
to  demonstrate  that  there  could  be  more  than  four  thousand 
vibrations  in  a  second  of  time  it  would  not  follow  that  more 
are  impossible.  If  it  were  impossible  to  demonstrate  that  the 
alleged  primordial  atom  was  reducible  in  dimension,  or  divisi- 
ble, it  would  not  follow  that  it  was  irreducible  or  indivisible. 
All  that  is  argued  in  either  case  is  the  inability  of  the  human 
capacity.  Annihilation  of  substance,  then,  which  cannot  be 
thought  at  all,  becomes,  if  possible,  more  palpably  unthinkable 
without  some  duration,  without  occupying  some  time,  during 
which  diminution  must  be  supposed  to  proceed,  in  order  that 
at  the  end  of  which  annihilation  might  be  supposed  to  result, 
if  it  were  supposable  at  all.  Then  whatever  cannot  be  dimin- 
ished must  be  eternal,  because  it  cannot  be  annihilated.  But 
it  does  not  follow  that  anything  (substance)  must  be  indivisible 
in  order  to  be  eternal.  1  think  1  have  shown  that  no  substance 
can  be,  or  be  supposed,  indivisible,  and  hence  divisibility  and 
indvisibility  are  no  factors  in  considering  the  question  of  the 
eternity  of  atoms  of  any  substance. 

I  said  above  that  division  cannot  be  imagined  as  diminu- 
tion, that  it  is  mere  separation  of  parts,  change  of  form,  condi- 
tion, and  place.     A  moment's  reflection,  or  one  illustration  is 


146  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

sufficient  to  demonstrate  this.  As  it  proceeds  in  the  physical 
world,  simply  the  process  of  disintegration,  it,  and  the  coun- 
teracting and  concurrent  process  of  integration  combine  to  form 
the  tlnal  process  by  which  the  indestructibility  of  tangible  mat- 
ter, and  hence  the  life  of  the  Universe,  is  said  to  be  maintained. 
Then  so  far  from  being  inimical  to  the  eternity  of  atoms  or  of 
substance  generally,  it  is  essential  to  it.  If  division  meant  di- 
minution, evaporation  would  soon  terminate  all  aquatic  exis- 
tence, and  the  mineral  particles  extracted  by  the  growth  of 
vegetation  from  the  earth,  and  diffused  by  its  consumption  and 
decay  in  impalpable  gases,  would  long  since  have  sent  its  soil 
into  nonentity. 

I  doubt  if  any  philosopher  has  ever  more  forcibly  propound- 
ed the  doctrine  of  persistence  of  force  and  eternal  integration  of 
matter,  forming  a  plurality,  or  rather  an  infinity  of  sidereal  sys- 
tems and  habitable  worlds ;  but  there  are  two  serious  objections 
to  it,  in  that  it  ignores  disintegration,  and  claims  that  the  inan- 
imate atoms  of  matter  are  self-propellent.  The  difficulty  of  the 
absence  of  disintegration  is  supposed  to  be  obviated  by  the 
supposition  of  an  infinite  number  of  atoms.  But  as  1  have 
above  shown  that  the  necessary  result  of  his  own  doctrine  is 
that  his  atoms  cannot  constitute  substance  in  any  quantity,  the 
proposition  is  not  aided  by  such  supposition.  An  infinite 
number  of  nothings  cannot  constitute  a  something,  and  disin- 
tegration remains  a  necessity  if  integration  is  to  continue.  Be- 
sides both  integration  and  disintegration  are  so  palpably  physi- 
cal facts,  that  it  is  not  a  little  surprising  that  such  a  reasoner 
would  attempt  to  account  for  the  continuity  of  integration  on 
the  hypothesis  of  an  inexhaustible  number  of  atoms  to  draw 
from,  even  if  he  allowed  them  to  have  dimension  so  that  they 
could  by  combination  constitute  quantity  of  substance.  He  is 
translated  as  saying,  "But  by  no  means  can  it  be  thought  pro- 
bable, when  space  lies  open  in  every  quarter,  and  when  semin- 
al atoms,  of  incomputable  number  and  unfathomable  sum, 
driven  about  by  everlasting  motion,  fly  through  the  void  in 
infinite  ways,  that  this  one  globe  of  earth,  and  this  one  heaven, 
have  been  alone  produced ;  and  that  these  innumerable  partic- 
les of  matter  do  nothing  beyond  our  sphere ;  especially  when 


ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY   IN   MODERN   ATTIRE.  I47 

this  world  was  made  by  merely  natural  causes,  and  the  atoms 
of  things,  jostling  about  of  their  own  accord  in  infinite  modes, 
often  brought  together  confusedly,  ineffectually,  and  to  no  pur- 
pose, at  length  successfully  coalesced ; — at  least  such  of  them 
as,  thrown  together  suddenly,  became  in  succession  the  begin- 
nings of  great  things,  of  the  earth,  the  sea,  the  heaven,  and  the 
race  of  animals.  For  which  reason  it  is  irresistibly  incumbent 
on  you  to  admit,  that  there  are  other  combinations  of  matter  in 
other  places,  such  as  is  this  world,  which  the  ether  holds  in  its 
vast  embrace." 

A  few  pages  thereafter  he  speaks  of  disintegration  as  work- 
ing the  ultimate  destruction  of  matter,  but  not  as  a  process  con- 
current with  and  reciprocal  to  integration,  which  it  must  be,  if 
the  indestructibility  of  tangible  matter  is  to  be  maintained. 

About  three  hundred  years  before  his  time  another  philoso- 
pher, in  his  last  colloquy  had  said,  "See  now  O  Cebes  that  we 
have  not  agreed  on  these  things  improperly,  as  it  appears  to 
me;  for  if  one  class  of  things  were  not  constantly  given  back  in 
the  place  of  another,  revolving  as  it  were,  in  a  circle,  but  gen- 
eration were  direct  from  one  thing  alone  into  its  opposite,  and 
did  not  turn  round  again  to  the  other,  or  retrace  its  course,  do 
you  not  know  that  all  things  would  at  length  have  the  same 
form,  be  in  the  same  state,  and  cease  to  be  produced  }  *  *  * 
And  if  all  things  were  mingled  together,  but  never  separated, 
that  doctrine  of  Anaxagoras  would  soon  be  verified,  'all  things 
•would  be  together.'" 

By  how  much  is  the  present  doctrine  of  evolution,  the  per- 
sistence of  force,  integration  and  reciprocal  disintegration  of 
matter  in  advance  of  that  of  twenty-two  centuries  ago  }  Ver- 
ily it  seems  "there  is  no  new  thing  under  the  sun."  Three 
hundred  years  after  Socrates  drank  the  hemlock,  Lucretius  is 
represented  as  reasoning  that  integration  will  perpetually  pre- 
vail, forming  numberless  sidereal  systems  of  habitable  worlds, 
drawing  the  supply  from  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  primordial 
inanimate  atoms,  without  parts  or  dimensions  (nothings),  in- 
animate yet  self-propellent,  and  yet  that  disintegration  will  out- 
strip such  process  and  eventually  annihilate  all  matter.  A 
motley  medley  of  contradiction ;  no  less  palpably  a  contradic- 


148  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

tion  to  itself,  than  to  his  aphorism  that  "nature  resolves  each 
thing  into  its  own  constituent  elements,  and  does  not  reduce 
anything  to  nothing." 

A  metrical  translator  has  him  likening  the  life  of  the  Uni- 
verse to  that  of  an  animal,  saying, 

"     »  *  *     This  the  ceaseless  course 

Of  things  ceated.     But  those  chief,  with  speed, 

Waste  into  nought  that  boast  a  bulk  immense; 

Since  wider,  here,  the  surface  whence,  each  hour, 

Flies  off  the  light  effluvium,  nor  with  ease 

Winds  the  fresh  food  through  all  the  mighty  mass. 

By  ceaseless  strife  exhausted,  and  a  store 

Asking  far  ampler  than  the  store  received. 

And  from  without  by  blows  tumultuous  urged; 

Blows  that,  resistless,  from  what  e'er  adjoins, 

Ply  their  full  vigor  till  the  victim  yields. 

Thus  shall  the  world's  wide  walls  hereafter  sink 

In  boundless  ruins;  thus,  though  yet  sustained 

By  food  appropriate,  and  preserved  entire. 

For  not  forever  will  her  powers  digest 

The  due  recruit,  nor  Nature's  hand  supply." 

It  would  seem  that  if  "nature  resolves  each  thing  into  its 
own  constituent  elements,"  matter,  on  being  disintegrated 
would  be  resolved  back  into  the  primordial  atoms  of  things, 
which,  if  they  were  the  same  constituent  elements  would  again 
jostle  about  of  their  own  accord,  if  they  had  previously  done 
so,  and  repeat  the  process  with  the  same,  or  with  analogous 
results.  If  they  are  the  same  constituent  elements,  they  would 
probablv  be  of  the  same  nature  (as  originally)  and  have  the 
same  power  and  propensity  to  jostle  about,  and  re-combine 
instead  of  "waste  into  nought." 

How  easily  a  link  may  be  omitted,  and  how  fatal  the  omis- 
sions to  the  force  and  effect  of  a  chain  of  sand,  or  of— wind. 

Ridiculing  the  idea  of  the  ubiquitv  and  omnipotence  of  any 
God,  he  is  represented  by  a  metrical  translator  as  saying, 

"     *  *  *     3I1  Nature  shines  at  once, 

Free  m  her  acts,  no  tryant  to  control,  • 

Self-potent,  and  uninfluenced  by  the  gods. 

For,  O  ye  powers  divine,  whose  tranquil  lives 

Flow  free  from  care,  with  ceaseless  sunshine  blest, — 


ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY   IN   MODERN   ATTIRE.  I49 

Who  the  vast  whole  could  guide,  midst  all  your  ranks  ? 

Who  grasp  the  reins  that  curb  th'  Entire  of  things? 

Turn  the  broad  heavens,  and  pour,  through  countless  worlds, 

Th'  ethereal  fire  that  feeds  their  vital  throngs  ? 

Felt  every  moment,  felt  in  every  place. 

Who  from  the  low'ring  clouds  the  lightening  dart, 

And  roll  the  clamorous  thunder,  olt  in  twain 

Rending  the  concave  ?  or,  full  deep  retired, 

Who  point  in  secret  the  mysterious  shaft 

That,  while  the  guilty  triumphs,  prostrates  stern 

The  fairest  forms  of  innocence  and  worth  ?" 

When  duly  considered  the  apparently  troublesome  inquiries 
assume  "something  more  in  the  nature  of  a  dissent  from  the 
generally  accepted  use  of  words,  than  a  denial  of  the  actuality 
of  an  omnipotent  and  omnipresent  Power  or  Being.  If  "all 
Nature  shines  at  once,  free  in  her  acts,  no  tyrant  to  control, 
self-potent,"  then  Nature  must  be  an  omnipotent  and  omni- 
present Power  or  Being;  and  the  dispute  assumes  proportions 
too  vast  to  be  justified  on  the  ground  of  alleged  impropriety  in 
the  use  of  a  mere  name.  By  "ye  powers  divine"  he  may  have 
meant  the  members  of  the  celestial  cabinet,  senate,  or  synod, 
the  Micheal,  Raphael,  Abdiel,  Uriel.  Uzziel,  etc.,  who  figured 
so  conspicuously  in  the  armed  armistice,  and  final  capitulation 
of  Eden  to  the  powers  of  Darkness,  then  but  recently  expelled 
from  "the  precincts  of  light." 

If  Nature  is  "self-potent  and  uninfluenced  by  the  gods,"  it 
must  be  superior  to  them ;  it  must  be  the  Supreme  Being  which 
some  assume  to  know  by  the  name  of  God,  denominated  by 
the  philosopher  Nature;  and  the  identity  is  in  no  sense  and  to 
no  extent  dependent  on  the  recognition  of  a  parallel  or  equiva- 
lent for  his  suppositive  subordinate  gods.  I  believe  he  no- 
where positively  ascribes  an  equivalent  for  their  alleged  tran- 
quility of  life  and  unconcern  in  human  affairs  to  Nature  itself; 
but  on  the  contrary  rather  holds  that  nature  by  immutable  fiat 
orders  and  controls  all  existence  whatever;  which  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  unimportant  difference  in  name,  and  the  then 
prevalent  recognition  of  the  intermediaries  called  gods,  is  almost 
equivalent  to  the  main  tenet  of  the  most  dogmatic  theology  of 
to-day. 


150  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE, 

While  doubting,  or  rather  disputing,  that  there  was  any 
god  among  all  their  ranks  who  could  "grasp  the  entire  of 
things  turn  the  broad  heavens  and  pour  through  countless 
worlds  the  ethereal  fire  that  feeds  their  vital  throngs,"  he  was 
recognizing  that  there  was  some  Power  which  could  and  did 
do  it,  and  he  called  that  Power  Nature,  and  held  it  to  be  "unin- 
fluenced by  the  gods."  One  can  almost  see  here  a  parallel  for 
the  Protestant  protest  that  the  Almighty  is  not  propitiated  by 
the  Catholic  invocation  of  saints. 

But  the  last  of  the  above  quoted  inquiries  is  not  so  easily 
disposed  of. 

"For  O  ye  powers  divine.     *     *     * 

*     *     *     midst  all  your  ranks 

Who  point  in  secret  the  mysterious  shaft 

That,  while  the  guilty  triumphs,  prostrates  stern 

The  fairest  forms  of  innocence  and  worth  ?" 

It  would  seem  that  some  Power  does  so  point  the  myster- 
ious shaft,  and  that  the  philosopher  was  duly  appreciative  of 
the  fact.  His  query  is,  who  of  the  gods  it  is,  implying  that 
while  it  is  done,  it  is  not  done  by  any  of  them,  and  that  he  at- 
tributes it  to  Nature,  who  shines  at  once  free  in  her  acts,  self- 
potent  and  uninfluenced  by  the  gods.  But  Nature  as  above 
shown  is  only  his  appellation  for  the  Supreme  Being  or  Power. 
The  most  troublesome  part  of  this  inquiry  is  its  covert  impu- 
tation of  injustice  and  bad  economy  in  the  course  of  the  Power, 
Being,  or  Nature  which  so  prostrates  the  fairest  forms  of  inno- 
cence and  worth  while  guilt  triumphs.  Here  the  mind  is  forced 
to  a  halt.  One  assumes  to  know  all  about  Nature,  attributes 
an  alleged  freedom  of  human  will  and  action  to  an  imagined 
deviation  from  a  direct  line  in  the  motion  of  alleged  self-moving 
primordial  atoms  of  inanimate  matter.  We  might  reasonably 
expect  him  to  go  on  and  explain  the  principle  of  justice  and 
economy  on  which  that  same  Nature  prostrates  the  fairest  forms 
of  innocence  and  worth  while  guilt  triumphs.  The  mind  was 
never  harassed  with  another  so  important  and  perplexing  a 
problem.  Why  should  innocence  and  worth  suffer  while  guilt 
triumphs  ?  It  is  vastly  more  important  to  benighted  mortals  to 
know  this  than  to  be  informed  that  their  own  freedom  of  action 


ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY   IN   MODERN    ATTIRE.  I5I 

is  due  to  a  fancied  circuity  of  direction  in  tine  motion  of  self- 
propelled  primordial  atoms  of  inanimate  matter. 

The  philosopher  finds  an  alleged  freedom  of  mind  and 
action  in  animated  nature,  and  attributes  it  to  an  alleged  pro- 
miscuous voluntary  motion  in  alleged  primordial  atoms  of  in- 
animate matter.  Mankind  could  be  no  more  than  curious  to 
know  this.  He  finds  an  alleged  system  of  economy  and  justice 
in  Nature  under  which  innocence  and  worth  suffer  while  guilt 
triumphs,  and  attributes  this  to — nothing.  Mankind  could  be 
no  less  than  deeply  concerned  to  know  this.  One  of  these 
propositions  is  no  more  inscrutable  than  the  other,  for  both  are 
absolutely  so.  The  data  from  which  to  reason  out  one  of  them 
is  as  available  as  that  from  which  to  reason  out  the  other,  for 
there  is  absolutely  none  for  either  of  them.  And  the  reasoning 
by  which  the  imagined  solution  of  the  first  problem  is  reached, 
is  shown  to  be  in  many  instances  fallacious,  and  in  some  in- 
stances self-destructive.  While  this  may  have  been  reason 
sufficient  for  not  attempting  a  solution  of  the  latter  and  more 
important  problem,  it  clearly  is  not  the  reason  it  was  not  at- 
tempted. A  careful  examination  of  the  whole  work  results  in 
the  disclosure  of  nothing  indicating  that  the  problem  itself  ever 
occurred  to  the  philosopher.  1  doubt,  however,  that  any  one 
ever  lived,  having  capacity  sufficient  to  distinguish  between 
good  and  ill,  or  to  conceive  of  them,  who  has  not  wondered 
and  longed  to  know  the  reason  why  innocence  and  worth 
should  suffer  while  guilt  triumphs.  Fervid  zealots  and  owl- 
wise  optimists  gravely  declare  that  it  is  the  holy  will  of  an  All- 
wise  and  benevolent  Creator,  who  wisely  and  benevolently 
orders  all  things  for  the  weal  of  the  elect ;  and  then  they  tax 
their  mental  resources  beyond  endurance  to  show  how  and 
why  the  direst  curses  are  the  dearest  blessings.  And  yet  they 
affect  a  condescending  pity  for  the  wicked,  idolatrous,  benight- 
ed Brahmin  who  practically  applies  such  doctrine  by  self- 
torture. 

The  problem  remains  as  hopelessly  insolvable  as  ever,  yet 
no  more  so  than  others  upon  which  lives  have  been  spent 
(wasted.?)  in  many  instances  in  unintelligible  speculation;  but 
which  are  to-day  as  far  from  a  solution  as  ever.     The  impor- 


154  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

away  at  once.     *  *  *     It  is  produced  together  with  the  body, 
and  grows  up  together  with  it,  and  both,   as  I  have  shown, 
overcome  by  age,  decay  in  concert."     The  third  argument  is, 
that  "the  mind  in  disease  of  the  body,  often  wanders  distract- 
ed ;  for  it  loses  its  faculties,  and  utters  senseless  words.  *  *  * 
Wherefore  you  must  necessarily   admit  that  the  mind  is  also 
dissolved,   since  the  contagion  of  disease  penetrates  it.     For 
pain   and  disease  are  each  the  fabricator  of  death.  *  *  * 
The  sixth  argument  is  that  "the  mind  may  be  healed,    like  a 
sick  body,  and  wrought  upon  by  means  of  medicine;"  but  the 
remainder  of  this  one  is  not  without  its  faults ;  for  instance  that 
division  and  transposition  are  incompatible  with  continual  ex- 
istence.    The  sixteenth  argument  is,  "  *  *  *  if  the  nature  of 
the  soul  exists  imperishable,  and  is  infused  into  men  at  their 
birth,  why  are  we  unable  to  remember  the  period  of  our  exis- 
tence previously  spent  by  us,   nor  retain  any    traces  of  past 
transactions?     For  if  the  power   of  mind   is   so   exceedingly 
changed,    that  all  remembrance  of  past  things  has  departed 
from  it,  that  change,  as  1  think,  is  not  far  removed  from  death 
itself." 

Indeed  there  seems  to  be  no  possible  confutation  of  such 
argument;  unless  it  consists  in  a  denial  of  the  postulate  that 
mind  and  soul  are  identical,  are  but  two  names  for  one  thing. 
If  mind  is  soul,  and  has  its  periods  of  helpless  infancy,  of  buoy- 
ant youth,  of  robust  manhood,  of  vigorous  middle  age,  of  senile 
decline ;  may  it  not  have  begun  with  the  physical  birth ;  may  it 
not  decline  and  end  with  the  physical  decay  and  death  ?  When 
and  where  hag  it  ever  been  known  to  exist  apart  from  a  physi- 
cal existence  ?  If  it  is  at  all  affected  by  disease,  may  it  not  be 
utterly  destroyed  by  it  ?  If  it  is  at  all  affected  by  the  decrepitude 
of  old  age,  may  it  not  be  entirely  exhausted  by  it  ?  If  it  is  af- 
fected sympathetically  by  affections  of  the  body,  and  is  never 
known  to  exist  apart  from  body,  does  not  this  imply  a  relation- 
ship too  intimate  and  too  gross,  to  be  maintained  by  anything 
which  could  be  conceived  of  as  capable  of  a  separate,  independ- 
ent, ethereal  existence  ? 

I  am  not  assuming  to  argue  either  the  mortality  or  immor- 
tality of  the  soul.     I  am  merely  considering  the  validity  of  the 


ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY   IN    MODERN   ATTIRE.  I  55 

reasoning  in  the  philosophy  attributed  to  Lucretius.  As  argu- 
ments the  above  quotations  are  simply  unanswerable,  if  mind 
is  soul,  and  if  the  immortality  of  the  soul  is  a  question,  the 
solution  of  which  is  to  be  reached  through  any  process  of  reason- 
ing, it  would  seem  that  Lucretius  had  almost  put  an  end  to  the 
debate.  If  the  result  should  be  the  overthrow  of  traditions, 
faiths,  and  hopes,  which  have  appeared  to  bless  while  they  have 
merely  deluded,  it  may  be  due  to  the  irrepressible  tendencies  of 
the  very  subject  of  the  discussion ;  whose  prime  propensity  is 
to  reason,  even  when  admonished  that  reasoning  is  rebellion. 
One  can  have  no  more  control  of  the  trend  of  his  thought  than 
he  could  have  of  its  determining  whether  it  will  act  at  all.  The 
sum  of  the  intelligence  which  prevails  to-day  is  the  result  of  the 
voluntary,  unrestrained,  independent  thought  of  those  who 
have  dared  to  think;  and  no  restraint,  guidance,  or  control  of  it 
can  be  imposed  or  urged  with  even  a  simulation  of  justice.  It 
may  be  enlightened,  educated,  cultured ;  but  any,  the  least 
check  or  curb  proposed  to  it  is  an  attack  upon  the  manliness 
of  the  man,  an  inexcusable  invasion  of  the  inalienable  inherit- 
ance of  every  individual  ever  born;  and  is  no  more  justifiable  in 
behalf  of  any  one  creed  or  faith  than  in  behalf  of  any  other. 
Medii^eval  Papacy  attempted  its  control,  restraint,  suppression, 
and  extinction;  and  her  anathemas  resounding  through  all  time 
remain  an  ever  enduring  reminder  of  her  bigoted  superstition 
and  stupidity.  If  speculation  leads  to.  or  results  in,  the  dem- 
olition of  fanciful  faiths  and  fabrics,  the  thinker  is  still  by  nature 
endowed  (or  cursed  ?)  with  the  facultv  and  propensity.  But 
there  seems  to  be  no  necessity  for  such  result,  if  a  faith  and  a 
religion  prevail  because  it  is  actually  demonstrated  that  they 
actually  benefit  their  adherents,  that  they  are  an  actual  blessing 
to  the  race;  the  fact  is  no  less  a  fact  merely  because  the  faith 
and  religion  are  neither  reasonable  nor  logical.  Whatever  is 
either  reasonable  or  logical  must  be  so  merely  from  a  human 
standpoint;  and  the  human  mind  to  be  itself  reasonable  and 
logical,  to  be  even  candid  with  itself,  must  admit  that  there 
are  some  things  which  it  can  never  comprehend;  that  there  is 
no  way  by  which  it  can  determine  and  demonstrate  whether 
the  soul  is   mortal  or  immortal,   and  that  any  effort  to  do  so, 


1  s6  •  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

even  in  argument  ever  so  reasonable  and  logical,  and  over- 
whelmingly unanswerable,  is  itself  utterly  unreasonable  and 
illogical.  Soul  may  be  substance,  or  it  may  not  be  substance ; 
it  may  be  mortal,  or  it  may  not  be  mortal.  The  question  may 
constantly  obtrude  upon  each  and  every  mind  among  all  the 
millions  of  millions  of  minds  existing  and  to  exist,  it  is  not  and 
never  will  become  a  legitimate  subject  of  any  human  reasoning 
or  logic. 

A  greater  proportion  of  the  great  thinkers  may  now  believe  in 
the  immortality  of  the  soul  than  have  ever  before  so  believed; 
the  question,  so  for  as  reasoning  is  concerned,  is  no  less  an 
open  one.  The  great  thinkers  have  ever  been  in  the  minority. 
Among  a  hundred  minds  of  equal  capacity,  of  similar  constitu- 
tion and  culture,  ninety-nine  may  have  reasoned  themselves 
into  a  belief  in  the  soul's  immortality,  while  one  with  just  as 
much  (and  no  more)  plausibility  has  reasoned  itself  into  the  be- 
lief in  its  mortality.  But  popularity  is  no  factor  in  the  account. 
So  far  as  reasoning  is  concerned,  plausibility  is  the  test,  and  it 
is  not  affected  by  number.  Popularity  varies,  and  if  it  were  a 
factor  in  the  controversy,  the  soul  might  at  some  stages  of  be- 
lief be  mortal  while  at  others  it  is  immortal.  The  question  pre- 
sents an  insuperable  antinomv,  which  fact  alone  conclusively 
demonstrates  that  the  question  is  not  a  legitimate  subject  of 
human  reasoning. 

So  that,  as  unanswerable  as  the  above  quoted  arguments 
may  be,  they  are  merely. an  unreasonable  application,  an  illegit- 
imate use,  of  the  most  eminently  reasonable  arguments. 
Equally  cogent  and  unanswerable  is  the  reasoning  of  the  great- 
est Greek  for  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  in  the  following  quo- 
tation from  his  last  dialogue.  Its  data  consist  of  no  assump- 
tion, are  absolutely  valid  in  every  respect,  and  as  a  process  of 
reasoning  it  is  in  all  respects  strictly  legitimate,  and  every  in- 
ference is  natural  and  necessary. 

"Observe  then,  said  he,  what  I  wish  to  prove.  It  is  this — 
that  it  appears  not  only  that  these  contraries  do  not  admit  each 
other,  but  even  such  things  as  are  not  contraries  to  each  other, 
and  yet  always  possess  contraries,  do  not  appear  to  admit  that 
idea  which  is  contrary  to  the  idea  that  exist  in  themselves,  but, 


ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY    IN    MODERN    ATTIRE.  IS? 

when  it  approaches,  perish  or  depart.  Shall  we  not  allow  that 
the  number  three  would  first  perish,  and  sutfer  anything  what- 
ever, rather  than  endure,  while  it  is  still  three,  to  become  even.^ 
Most  certainly,  said  Cebes.  And  yet,  said  he,  the  number 
two  is  not  contrary  to  three.  Surely  not.  Not  only,  then  do 
ideas  that  are  contrary  never  allow  the  approach  of  each  other, 
but  some  other  things  also  do  not  allow  the  approach  of  con- 
traries. You  say  very  truly,  he  replied.  Do  you  wish  then,  he 
said,  that,  if  we  are  able,  we  shall  define  what  these  things  iwe? 
Certainly.  Would  they  not,  then,  Cebes,  he  said,  be  such 
things  as,  whatever  they  occupy,  compel  that  thing  not  only 
to  retain  its  own  idea,  but  also  that  of  something  which  is  al- 
ways a  contrary  ?  How  do  you  mean  ?  As  we  just  now  said. 
For  you  know,  surely,  that  whatever  thing  the  idea  of  the  three 
occupies  must  of  necessity  not  only  be  three,  but  also  odd  ? 
Certainly.  To  such  a  thing  then,  we  assert,  that  the  idea  con- 
trary to  that  form  which  constitutes  this  can  never  come.  It 
cannot.  But  does  the  odd  make  it  so  ?  Yes.  And  is  the  contrary 
to  this  the  idea  of  even  .^  Yes.  The  idea  of  even,  then,  will 
never  come  to  the  three  ?  No,  surely.  Three,  then,  has  no 
part  in  even  ?  None  whatever.  The  number  three  is  uneven.^ 
Yes.  What,  therefore.  1  said  should  be  defined — namely,  what 
things  they  are  which,  though  not  contrary  to  some  particular 
thing,  yet  do  not  admit  of  the  contrary  itself;  as  in  the  present 
instance  the  number  three,  though  not  contrary  to  the  even, 
does  not  any  the  more  admit  it,  for  it  always  brings  other  par- 
ticulars. Consider,  then,  whether  you  would  thus  define,  not 
only  that  a  contrary  does  not  admit  a  contrary,  but  also  that 
which  brings  with  it  a  contrary  to  that  which  it  approaches 
will  never  admit  the  contrary  to  that  which  it  brings  with  it. 
But  call  it  to  mind  again,  for  it  will  not  be  useless  to  hear  it 
often  repeated.  Five  will  not  admit  the  idea  of  the  even,  nor 
ten,  its  double,  that  of  the  odd.  This  double,  then  though  it  is 
itself  contrary  to  something  else,  yet  will  not  admit  the  idea  of 
the  odd;  nor  will  half  as  much  again,  nor  other  things  of  the 
kind,  such  as  the  half  and  the  third  part,  admit  the  idea  of  the 
whole,  if  you  follow  me,  and  you  agree  with  me  it  is  so.  I 
certainly  agree  with  you,  he  said,  and  follow  you. 


158  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

"Tell  me  again,  then,  he  said,  from  the  beginning;  and  do 
not  answer  me  in  terms  in  which  1  put  the  question,  but  in 
different  ones,  imitating  my  example.  For  1  say  this  because, 
besides  that  safe  mode  of  answering  which  I  mentioned  at  first, 
from  what  has  now  been  said,  I  see  another  no  less  accurate 
one.  For  if  you  should  ask  me  what  that  is  which,  if  it  be  in 
the  body,  will  cause  it  to  be  hot.  1  should  not  give  you  that 
safe  but  unlearned  answer,  that  it  is  heat,  but  one  more  ele- 
gant, from  what  we  have  just  now  said,  that  it  is  fire;  nor,  if 
you  should  ask  me  what  that  is  which,  if  it  be  in  the  body,  will 
cause  it  to  be  diseased,  should  I  say  that  it  is  disease,  but  fever; 
nor  if  you  should  ask  me  what  that  is  which,  if  it  be  in  num- 
ber, will  cause  it  to  be  odd,  should  I  say  that  it  is  unevenness, 
but  unity;  and  so  with  other  things.  But  consider  whether 
you  sufficiently  understand  what  I  mean.  Perfectly  so,  he 
replied.  Answer  me,  then,  he  said,  what  that  is  which,  when 
it  is  in  the  body,  the  body  will  be  alive.  Soul,  he  replied.  Is 
not  this  then,  always  the  case  ?  How  should  it  not  be.^  said 
he.  Does  the  soul,  then,  always  bring  life  to  whatever  it  occu- 
pies ?  It  does  indeed,  he  replied.  Whether,  then,  is  there 
any  thing  contrary  to  life  or  not  ?  There  is.  he  replied.  What  ? 
Death.  The  soul,  then,  will  never  admit  the  contrary  of  that 
which  it  brings  with  it,  as  has  been  already  allowed  ?  Most 
•assuredly,  replied  Cebes.  What,  then?  How  do  we  denom- 
inate that  which  does  not  admit  the  idea  of  the  even  ?  Un- 
even, he  replied.  And  that  which  does  not  admit  the  just,  nor 
the  musical  ?  Unmusical,  he  said,  and  unjust.  Be  it  so.  But 
what  do  we  call  that  which  does  not  admit  death  ?  Immortal, 
he  replied.  Therefore,  does  not  the  soul  admit  death  ?  No. 
Is  the  soul.  then,  immortal.^     Immortal." 

1  said  that  "the  question  presents  an  insuperable  antinomy, 
which  fact  alone  conclusively  demonstrates  that  the  question  is 
not  a  legitimate  subject  of  human  reasoning."  1  have  now 
shown  two  examples,  one  from  each  of  two  diametrically  op- 
posite arguments  of  the  question,  one  conclusively  establishes 
the  soul's  mortality,  the  other  conclusively  establishes  its  im- 
mortalitv.  The  data  in  both  instances  are  unquestionable,  the 
reasoning  in  both  are  strictly  legitimate  and  absolutely  unans- 


ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY   IN   MODERN   ATTIRE.  1^9 

werable.  The  result  amply  justifies  the  assertion  that  the  ques- 
tion is  not  a  legitimate  subject  of  human  reasoning.  Still  it  is 
forever  persistently  presenting  itself  to  every  human  mind;  even 
those  who  claim  they  know  the  soul  is  immortal,  are  constant- 
ly fortifying  themselves  with  arguments  that  it  is  so.  The 
question  is  the  bed-rock  of  all  religion,  and  there  is  no  possible 
solution  of  it.  it  can  be  met  only  by  faith;  egotists  may  sneer- 
ingly  say,  by  credulity,  by  superstition. 

The  difficulty  is  not  to  be  obviated  by  any  possible  purifica- 
tion of  the  reason  itself;  at  least  by  any  purification  of  it  by 
human  agency  or  means.  A  criticism  of  the  processes,  specu- 
lations and  deductions  of  the  human  reason,  mav  serve  to  vin- 
dicate some  such  processes,  speculations  and  deductions  that 
may  be  legitimate,  and  expose  the  fallacy  of  others  which  may 
be  illegitimate;  but  they  must  relate  to  subjects  within  the  pos- 
sible comprehension  of  the  human  mind.  The  capacity  of  the 
human  mind  cannot  be  amplified  by  any  human  agency,  how- 
ever much  the  mind  may  be  developed,  cultured  and  skilled  by 
such  agency.  It  may  be  taught  to  philosophize  and  speculate 
and  refine  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  and  may  convince  itself  and 
others  that  it  has  finally  reached  ultimate  truth ;  but  when  it 
reaches  ultimate  truth  so  as  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  a  di- 
rectly contrary  conclusion  of  the  same  question  being  establish- 
ed by  argument  equally  as  legitimate  as  that  by  which  it  was 
established,  it  will  be  where  its  subject  was  of  a  physical,  and 
not  of  a  spiritual  nature.  The  question  which  has  been  con- 
stantly discussed  by  the  greatest  of  minds  for  many  thousands 
of  years,  and  is  still  as  far  as  ever  from  being  settled,  is  practi- 
cally beyond  the  possibility  of  settlement  by  human  minds. 
If  every  person  living  believed  in  either  the  mortality  or  immor- 
tality of  the  soul,  such  belief  might  properly  be  called  a  univer- 
sal faith,  but  it  could  not  be  properly  called  a  universal  know- 
ledge. Indeed  it  could  not  be  knowledge,  nor  could  it  contain 
any  element  of  knowledge;  and  if  it  should  be  based  on  the 
results  of  any  process  of  reasoning  it  would  be  groundless,  be- 
cause the  exact  contrary  could  be  established  by  reasoning 
equally  as  valid  and  unanswerable. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  deny  that   Lucretius   formulated   and 


l6o  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

wrote  each  and  every  proposition  in  the  philosophy  attributed 
to  him;  but  I  think  1  have  shown  that  those  of  the  learned  by 
whom  it  has  been  passed  down  to  us,  and  served  up  for  us, 
have  rendered  the  supposition  extremely  problematical.  1  shall 
now  show  that  some  of  them  have  rendered  it  (the  philosophy) 
exceedingly  unsavory,  it  will  not  be  necessary  or  even  profit- 
able to  trace  each  of  the  main  tenets  or  lines  of  thought  sever- 
ally to  their  necessary  results,  so  I  shall  close  with  a  brief  sur- 
vey of  the  fourth  book,  which  is  preeminently  the  psychologi- 
cal part  of  the  philosophy. 

One  or  two  instances  of  its  self-contradiction,  and  inconsis- 
tency with  other  parts  of  the  work,  may  tend  to  justify  the  sus- 
picion already  hinted,  that  the  work  is  not  even  substantially 
the  production  of  any  one  pen,  but  rather  that  of  several   pens. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  in  speaking  of  light  he  says,  it 
consists  of  atoms  which  are  much  more  minute  than  those  of 
which  "the  genial  liquid  of  water  consists;"  that  they  are  so 
minute  that  they  "pass  through  horn  while  water  is  repelled 
by  it;"'  that  "Light  the  clear  glass  pervades,  while  lymph 
recoils." 

As  in  all  other  efforts  at  psychological  elucidations,  images 
are  here  important  factors;  and  he  supposes  them  to  consist  or 
to  be  composed  of  thin  coats,  or  layers  of  the  substance  of  the 
object  of  vision,  flying  off  the  outer  part  of  the  objects  and  be- 
ing impelled  by  an  inherent  force,  with  inexpressible  velocity, 
and  by  coming  in  contact  with  the  visual  subject,  producing 
images.  He  says,  "But  when  objects  which  are  bright  have 
stood  in  the  way,  as,  above  all,  a  looking-glass,  neither  of 
these  effects  happens,  for  neither  can  images  pass  through  it 
like  a  garment,  nor  be  divided  into  parts  before  the  smoothe 
surface  has  succeeded  in  securing  its  entireness."  But  on  the 
very  next  page  he  says,  "  *  *  *  they  can  easily  penetrate  any 
substance  whatsoever,  and,  as  it  were.  How  through  the  inter- 
vening body  of  air. " 

It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  believe  that  the  same  man  who 
wrote  the  foregoing  argument  that  the  soul  (mind)  is  mortal, 
also  wrote  the  silly  swash  about  images,  from  which  the  above 
is  quoted;  to  say  nothing  of  the  obscenity  and  rot  in  which 


ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY   IN   MODERN   ATTIRE.  l6l 

some  of  the  objects  of  vision  (images)  are  disgustingly  depicted 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  book.  Speaking  of  this  feature  one 
translator  says,  "A  serious  and  attentive  reader  of  this  truly 
learned,  as  well  as  poetical  discourse,  whether  male  or  female, 
cannot  possibly,  1  think,  peruse  it  without  the  acquisition  of 
some  degree  of  useful  knowledge;  and  even  the  medical  pro- 
fessor himself  cannot  but  be  astonished  at  the  copiousness  of 
his  research,  and  the  accuracy  that  accompanies  much  of  his 
reasoning."  Another  has  said,  "There  is  here  no  impurity  of 
language,  nothing  that  may  not  be  mentioned  with  propriety. 
If  anything  shall  appear  objectionable,  such  appearance  is  to  be 
attributed  not  to  the  fault  of  the  poet,  but  to  that  of  the  reader." 
This  may  partake  somewhat  of  the  nature  of  a  question  of 
taste,  but  let  us  see  one  sample  of  that  which  does  appear  there; 
let  us  see  if  it  is  not  impurity  of  language,  and  worse,  of 
thought. 

"Yet  pot  forever  do  the  softer  sex 

Feign  joys  they  feel  not,  as  with  close  embrace 

Breast  joined  to  breast,  their  paramours  they  clasp, 

And  print  the  humid  kisses  on  their  lips. 

Oft  from  their  hearts  engage  they,  urged  amain 

By  mutual  hopes  to  run  the  race  of  love. 

Thus  nature  prompts;  by  mutual  hopes  alone, 

By  bliss  assured,  birds,  beasts,  and  grazing  herds, 

The  task  essay;  nor  would  the  female  else 

E'er  bear  the  burden  of  the  vigorous  male, 

By  mutual  joys  propelled.     Hast  thou  not  seen, 

Hence  tempted,  how  in  mutual  bonds  they  strive 

Worked  oft  to  madness  ?  how  the  race  canine 

Stain  with  their  vagrant  loves  the  public  streets, 

Diversely  dragging,  and  the  chain  obscene 

Tugging  to  loose,  while  yet  each  effort  fails  ? 

Toils  they  would  ne'er  essay  if  unassured 

Of  mutual  bliss,  and  cheated  to  the  yoke." 

So  this  vivid  vision  of  "the  female  bearing  the  burden  of 
the  vigorous  male,'"  of  the  canine  copulation  in  the  street  and 
the  struggle  to  disconnect,  contains  "no  impropriety  of  lang- 
uage, nothing  that  may  not  be  mentioned  with  propriety." 
The  mere  appearance  of  impropriety  is  attributable  to  the  fault 
of  the  reader.     If  this  is  true,    there  could  be  but  little  if  any 


1 62  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

occasion  for  such  a  vigorous  defense  of  it.  If  there  is  really  no 
impropriety  in  it,  it  is  strange  that  the  translators  ever  thought 
to  defend  it.  They  had  better  have  been  engaged  in  an  effort 
to  cultivate  the  taste,  the  sense  of  propriety  of  the  reader  up  to 
that  aesthetical  pitch,  at  which  he  might  duly  appreciate  the 
delectable  morsel.  As  the  majority  of  them  were  Doctors  of 
Divinity  and  Masters  of  Arts  they  were  probably  equal  to  the 
undertaking,  and  if  so,  they  are  at  least  in  that  particular  de- 
linquent in  the  discharge  of  their  duty.  Is  it  not  remarkable 
how  a  D.  D.  or  a  L.  L.  D.  or  an  M.  A.  or  an  F.  R.  S.  can  make 
things  go  in  Literature  ?  How  they  make  us  relish  the  rankest 
rot,  the  vilest  venom,  and  the  absurdest  asininity  ? 

Lucretius  may  have  regaled  the  fastidious  aesthetes  of  Roman 
Letters  of  the  Julian  epoch  with  such  putresence,  or  he  may 
not  have  done  so.  If  his  translators  have  "put  5^«5^,  perhaps 
at  times  too  arbitrarily,  into  verses  which  had  been  left  mean- 
ingless by  transcribers,"  it  is  reasonably  certain  that  no  bones 
have  been  broken  in  an  effort  to  put  decency  into  the  verses 
last  quoted.  They  may  have  had  more  sense  than  decency, 
but  a  reading  posterity  need  not  groan  under  the  burden  of  its 
obligation  to  them  for  their  suggestions  of  propriety  in  the  use 
of  language,  nor  for  their  formula  for  purity  of  thought.  Philo- 
sophic speculation  is  somewhat  short  of  data  for  its  illustrations 
when  it  is  compelled  to  resort  to  such  things  as  the  carnal 
coition  of  dogs. 

One  of  the  erudite  translators  says,  "1  have  observed  that 
my  author  addresses  himself  only  to  high  and  cultivated  intel- 
lect. The  remark  applies  here  with  peculiar  force.  Lucretius 
was  too  much  a  man  of  sense,  too  well  acquainted  with  human 
feelings,  not  to  know  that  the  higher  order  of  minds  are  little 
liable  to  seduction  from  the  gross  exposures  of  nature;  and  only 
to  such  minds  is  his  poem  addressed." 

While  minds  worthy  of  the  name  may  not  be  seduced  by 
such  exhibitions,  it  would  seem  to  be  a  singular  sort  of  "high 
and  cultivated  intellect,"  that  would  not  be  disgusted  by  them. 
Yet  such  seems  to  be  the  sentiment  of  some  of  the  learnedly 
arrogant  priests,  who  assume  to  fix  the  standard  of  excellence 
and  prescribe  the  intellectual  pabulum  of  a  reading  world.     So 


I 


ANCIENT   PHILOSOPHY   IN   MODERN   ATTIRE.  1 63 

long  as  a  truckling  canaille  is  subservient  to  a  lordly  aristoc- 
racy in  literature,  so  long  will  it  impose  its  peter-funk  on  its 
confiding  clientage,  and  continue  to  deprave  taste  to  the  stand- 
ard essential  to  a  market  for  its  wares.  When  the  reading 
masses  grow  out  of  the  slovenly  habit  of  perfunctorily  reading 
through  the  volumes  they  peruse,  and  adopt  a  habit  of  energet- 
ically, systematically,  and  critically  thinking  through  them, 
there  will  begin  to  prevail  a  manliness  in  taste  that  will  spurn 
the  imperious  authority  of  the  learned  autocracy  that  thrives 
more  by  means  of  the  want  of  discrimination  among  its  read- 
ing tributaries,  than  by  virtue  of  its  own  intrinsic  ability  and 
wisdom. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

nature's  poet. 

Treasures  Among  Trash— Symmetry  of  The  Ages — The  Poets  Medium  Between 
Optimism  and  Cynicism— Civilization  a  Constant  Rhythmical  Growth 
— Good  and  Evil  Necessarily  Relative — Poetry  of  Nature  an  Effusion  of  the 
Soul  and  not  a  Product  of  Genius — Personal  Merit  an  Absurdity — Constitu- 
tion and  Environment — Integration  and  Diffusion — Mechanical  Cause  of 
Feeling  and  Emotion — Contemptible  Spirit  that  Seeks  Consolation  for  III 
in  the  Reflection  that  Others  also  Suffer— Attention  an  Effort — Universal 
Weakness  for  Flattery — Philosophy  Works  over  the  Old  More  than  it  De- 
velops the  New — Celestial  and  Terrestrial  Paternity  of  Man — The  Coolest 
Deductions  of  Physics  as  Extravagant  as  the  Wildest  Flights  ot  Poetry — 
Hymn  to  Death. 

The  chief  concern  of  the  rambler  in  the  realm  of  Literature 
being  the  discovery  of  the  true  and  the  beautiful,  it  is  grateful- 
ly refreshing  to  pause  in  contemplation  of  such  achievements 
as  the  Ages,  the  Thanatopsis,  and  the  Flood  of  Years;  and 
other  masterpieces  of  the  unassuming  Bard  who  has  uncon- 
sciously adorned,  dignified,  and  meliorated  Republican  Letters. 
These  three  pieces,  occupying  less  than  sixteen  pages,  come  as 
near  as  any  literary  production  to  comprehending  all  compre- 
hensible nature;  and  exhibiting  it  in  its  truest  and  most  beauti- 
ful aspects.  The  Ages,  in  thirty-five  short  stanzas  is  at  once  a 
profound  sermon  in  philosophy,  a  vivid  panorama  in  history, 
and  a  majestic  march  of  the  Muse.  The  man  who  could  write 
either  of  them  was  a  prodigy.  He  who  did  write  them  was  a 
benefactor.  No  one  can  read  either  of  them  thoughtfully  with- 
out appreciable  intellectual  profit. 

I  have  remarked  that  prolixity  may  sometimes  obscure 
merit,  and  at  other  times  disguise  demerit.  An  instance  of 
the  former  may  be  seen  in  a  poem  called  Sea  Dreams,  written 
by  a  monarchical  Laureate  who  bore  the  Bays  for  forty  years, 
where  he  says  : — 

"  *  *  *  he  that  wrongs  his  friend 
Wrongs  himself  more,  and  ever  bears  about 
A  silent  court  of  justice  in  his  breast." 

If  among  the  thirty-five  stanzas  of  The  Ages  there  is  not  one 


nature's  poet.  165 

that  could  be  dispensed  with  without  disfiguring  the  symmetry 
of  the  poem,  it  may  be  regarded  a  compactly  built  structure. 
In  the  first  six  stanzas  the  reader  is  introduced  upon  a  mighty 
and  majestic  scene  of  constancy  in  change,  nature's  variable 
stability ;  and  assured  that : — 

"  *  *  *  Eternal  Love  doth  keep, 

In  his  complacent  arms,  the  earth,  the  air,  the  deep." 

In  the  seventh  stanza  a  sincere  solicitude  for  the  destiny  of 
mankind  is  expressed  in  the  inquiry  which  cannot  be  made  in 
any  other  terms  so  well  as  in  those  of  the  poet  himself. 

"Will  then  the  merciful  One,  who  stamped  our  race 

With  his  own  image,  and  who  gave  them  sway 

O'er  earth,  and  the  glad  dwellers  on  her  face. 

Now  that  OLir  swarming  nations  far  away 

Are  spread,  where'er  the  moist  earth  drinks  the  day 

Forget  the  ancient  care  that  taught  and  nursed 

His  latest  offspring  ?  will  he  quench  the  ray 

Infused  by  his  own  forming  smile  at  first, 

And  leave  a  work  so  fair  all  blighted  and  accursed  ?" 

It  is  the  business  of  the  balance  of  the  poem  to  answer  these 
inquiries,  to  compose  this  concern,  and  to  assure  human  hope; 
not  in  improvised  commonplaces  without  meaning,  or  sus- 
ceptible of  many  meanings;  not  in  vague  and  glittering  gener- 
alities, the  refuge  of  all  optimism ;  nor  by  the  graceless  attempt 
to  mould  mind  to  imagine  a  senseless  solution  of  insolvable 
mystery,  or  affect  an  air  of  fancied  security  in  a  situation  of 
possible,  or  rather  probable  peril. 

The  answer  and  assurance  are  given  in  the  next  stanza ; 
the  twenty-seven  following  it  are  but  an  elaboration  and  a 
metaphysical  vindication  of  them;  the  rationally  legitimate  de- 
ductions of  enlightened  reason  from  the  inflexible  facts  of  his- 
tory, compendiously  summarized,  and  arrayed  in  all  the  beauty 
and  grandeur  of  the  most  imaginative  and  prophetic  poetry. 

"Oh,  no,  a  thousand  cheerful  omens  give 
Hope  of  yet  happier  days,  whose  dawn  is  nigh. 
He  who  has  tamed  the  elements,  shall  not  live 
The  slave  of  his  own  passions;  he  whose  eye 
Unwinds  the  eternal  dances  of  the  sky, 
And  in  the  abyss  of  brightness  dares  to  span 


1 66  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

The  sun's  broad  circle,  rising  yet  more  high, 

In  God's  magnificent  works  his  will  shall  scan 

And  love  and  peace  shall  make  their  paradise  with  man." 

Evolution,  the  development  of  soul  or  culture  of  character, 
is  finely,  yet  forcibly  posited,  and  upon  it  is  confidently  based 
the  hope  of  one  of  the  most  sincere  lovers  of  mankind,  one  of 
the  greatest  representatives  of  the  good  in  human  nature,  for 
the  ultimate  destiny  of  the  race.  .He  justifies  the  hope,  so  far 
as  reasoning  is  capable  of  demonstration,  in  the  universal  retro- 
spect then  taken.  If  from  the  prehistoric  (or  even  later)  bar- 
barism, in  which : — 

"Then  waited  not  the  murderer  for  the  night, 
But  smote  his  brother  down  in  the  bright  day," 

to  the  civilization  now  prevalent,  the  transition  was  not  abrupt, 
but  was  almost  imperceptibly  gradual,  was  the  occasionally  in- 
terrupted yet  almost  constant  growth  of  good;  the  logical  im- 
plication is  the  continuous  diminution  of  what  is  now  denomin- 
ated evil.  The  Prophetic  Muse  that  could  comprehend  the  past 
in  its  magnitude,  might  with  as  much  reason  as  sentiment, 
forecast  ever  increasing  felicity  as  the  necessary  logical  result  of 
the  process  of  evolution,  the  progress  of  which  we  have  no 
reason  to  believe  will  ever  be  suspended,  because  we  cannot 
even  imagine  a  time  when  it  was  not  going  on.  This  does 
not  necessarily  imply  the  continuous  concurrent  existence  of 
absolute  evil  in  order  that  there  may  be  a  ground  for  the  pro- 
gress to  be  going  from  to  the  good,  for  neither  absolute  evil 
nor  absolute  good  is  a  supposable  quantity.  Neither  evil  nor 
good  can  be  supposed  except  as  relative,  in  which  case  both 
may  continuously  prevail  (or  exist)  while  there  is  a  continuous 
diminution  of  the  one  and  concurrent  increase  of  the  other. 

The  "rhythm  being  manifested  in  all  forms  of  movement," 
is  aptly  illustrated  in  the  poet's  exhibition  of  tropical  tyranny 
driving  virtue  from  the  eastern  nations  by  reducing  them  to 
slavery;  of  its  flight  to  the  vales  of  glorious  Greece,  where 
Liberty  awoke  and  flourished  for  a  time,  until  from  prosperity 
it  relapsed  into  a  disdainful  arrogance  and  oppression  and 
Greece  went  down  beneath  the  weight  of  her  own  infamy ;  a 
view  of  a  similar  process  in  Rome,  the  result  of  similar  causes; 


nature's  poet.  167 

all  interrupting,  or  rather  diversifying  and  rendering  rhythmical 
the  constant  course  of  human  progress,  now  cuhninating  in  the 
greatest  known  liberty  to  man  in  a  then  unknown  world;  the 
influences  of  which  are  being  reflected  upon  the  same  shores 
from  which  it  was  so  expelled.  The  illustration  is  perhaps  the 
most  concise  and  comprehensive  view  of  human  progress  ever 
presented,  and  the  most  inspiriting  prospect  ever  rationally  con- 
templated by  man;  who  may  now  realize  that: — 

"Here  the  free  spirit  of  mankind,  at  length, 
Throws  its  last  fetters  off.      *       *       *      * 
*****       And  we  may  trace 
Afar,  the  brightening  glory  of  its  flight. 
Till  the  receding  rays  are  lost  to  human  sight." 

This  is  not  the  groundless  extravagance  of  a  zealot,  nor  the 
ebullient  fervor  of  an  enthusiast;  but  the  legitimately  logical 
deductions  of  a  philosopher  from  the  sternest  phase  of  facts;  a 
purely  poetical  picture  of  prospect,  verified  by  common  obser- 
vation and  experience,  past  and  present.  To  know  as  we  do, 
that  man  in  his  present  state,  man  as  we  now  know  him,  has 
evolved  from  man  in  a  former  far  inferior  state,  yet  without 
being  able  to  even  approximate  the  degree  or  extent  of  such 
inferiority;  to  know  that  the  course  of  such  evolution  is  still 
constant  though  varying,  or  rhythmical  rather;  fairly  implies 
that  it  will  continue,  if  from  no  other  cause,  from  the  mere  per- 
sistence of  force  until  it  reaches  results,  the  grandeur  of  which 
may  be  as  impossible  to  predict  as  the  lowliness  of  his  former 
state  may  be  impossible  to  conceive.     That 

''*■**  we  may  trace 

Afar,  the  brightening  glory  of  its  flight 

Till  the  receding  rays  are  lost  to  human  sight." 

is  a  Strictly  legitimate  corollary  from  the  opposite  view,  the  re- 
flection on  that  part  of  the  process  of  development  now  accom- 
plished. We  may  retrace  the  course  of  progress,  to  a  great  ex- 
tent; but  we  cannot  even  in  thought  come  to  its  source.  We 
may  prognosticate  the  course  of  progress  to  a  great  extent,  but 
we  cannot  even  in  thought  come  to  its  end.  Its  "receding 
rays  are  lost  to  human  sight."  That  the  further  development 
of  man  will  forever  follow  and  continuously  conduce  to  his 


1 68  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

happiness,  is  implied  in  the  fact  that  his  previous  development 
has  forever  followed,  and  has  continuously  so  conduced.  That 
it  will  be  occasionally  interrupted  and  diversified  by  seasons 
and  scenes  of  retrograde  tending  to  his  unhappiness,  is  implied 
in  the  fact  that  it  has  been  occasionally  interrupted  and  diversi- 
fied by  such  seasons  and  scenes  with  such  results.  They  are 
exhibitions  of  "the  rhythm  being  manifested  in  all  forms  of 
movement." 

That  on  the  whole  the  results,  so  flir  as  they  can  be  mentally 
aggregated,  will  be  the  increased  and  ever  increasing  felicity  of 
the  race,  is  at  once  a  legitimate  deduction  of  the  most  inexor- 
able logic,  and  one  of  the  most  gratifying  contemplations  that 
ever  thrilled  the  heart  of  a  poet.  Human  happiness  cannot  be 
more,  and  it  is  not  likely  to  be  less,  than  human  goodness; 
and  he  who  inculcates  goodness  augments  happiness.  The 
great  priests  of  Nature  who  infuse  into  the  minds  of  men 
rationally  true  ideas  of  their  place  and  destiny  in  Nature,  who 
cheer  them  with  hope  for  the  future  legitimately  deduced  from 
or  based  on  the  known  facts  of  the  past,  add  to  human  happi- 
ness by  facilitating  intelligent  human  goodness.  The  master 
who  takes  up  a  subject  of  the  deepest  concern  to  every  indi- 
vidual living,  and  treats  it  philosophically  yet  poetically,  ex- 
haustively, yet  without  tedium ;  who  enlightens  while  he  en- 
tertains and  frequently  enraptures,  and  then  quits  when  he  is 
done,  is  a  real  benefactor  of  mankind.  It  does  not  imply  that 
the  poet  failed  to  duly  appreciate  the  gravity  or  sublimity  of 
his  subject,  that  he  did  not  treat  it  in  a  nasal  twang  of  endless 
rhyme,  and  obscure  it  by  his  own  prominence  in  the  poem. 

While  it  may  not  be  likely  that  litigation  will  ever  cease  or 
even  decrease  merely  because  it  is  the  policy  of  the  law  that 
there  be  an  end  of  litigation,  it  may  be  equally  as  improbable 
that  verbosity  will  ever  cease  or  even  decrease  merely  because 
it  is  the  policy  of  literature  that  there  be  an  end  of  words ;  that 
is,  of  words  without  ideas,  or  words  unnecessary  for  the  ex- 
pression of  ideas.  But  here  we  have  an  illustrious  example  of 
an  author  whose  writings  plainly  show  that  in  what  he  wrote 
he  was  actuated  by  such  policy.  Rhythmical  rhyme  and 
metrical  melody  are  merely  incidental  to  the  expression  of  the 


nature's  poet.  169 

thought.  No  great  campaign  is  deliberately  planned  and  map- 
ped out  to  cover  any  particular  or  prescribed  scope,  area,  or 
extent  of  territory  with  couplets,  strophes,  and  flights.  But  a 
doctrine,  a  deep  and  true  one  appears  to  have  been  completely 
organized  in  the  mind  of  a  philosopher,  and  when  he  proceeds 
to  give  it  (not  himself)  expression,  the  figures  and  ideas  array 
themselves  in  proper  order,  and  march  to  the  music  of  one  of 
the  greatest  Psalmists  that  ever  praised  his  Maker  in  singing 
the  grandeur  of  his  works. 

Temperament,  which  is  a  factor  in  environment,  is  undoubt- 
edly as  fortuitous  to  the  individual  as  any  of  the  elements,  or 
agencies  which  figure  in  his  fate.  The  Poet  certainly  was  not 
a  captious  pessimist,  yet  he  cannot  properly  be  regarded  a 
credulous  optimist.  He  may  not  have  been  blameworthy  for 
his  inability  to  recognize  good  in  every  thing,  and  he  may  have 
been  entitled  to  little  credit  for  his  ability  to  fail  to  see  evil  in 
some  things.  He  was  so  constituted  and  informed  that  to  him 
the  fabulous  golden  age  was 

"A  boundless  sea  of  blood,  and  the  wild  air 
Moans  with  the  crimsoned  surges  that  entomb 
Cities  and  bannered  armies.     *  *  *     " 

Yet  he  was  of  such  a  temperament  and  constitution  and  so  in- 
formed that  he  could 

"See  crimes,  that  feared  not  once  the  eye  of  day 
Rooted  from  men,  without  a  name  or  place." 
"Thus  error's  monstrous  shapes  from  earth  are  driven; 
They  fade,  they  lly — but  Truth  survives  their  flight; 
Earth  has  no  shades  to  quench  that  beam  of  heaven." 

He  seems  to  have  seen  the  world  progressing  with  variable 
constancy  from  evil  to  good,  while  there  yet  remained,  and 
will  ever  remain,  evil  to  be  extirpated  and  good  to  be  attained 
to.  There  can  never  be  such  thing  as  either  good  or  evil  with- 
out the  other  although  they  are  direct  opposites  of  each  other, 
and  one  constantly  increases  at  the  expense  of  the  other  and  as 
it  decreases.  Both  are  infinite,  yet  in  the  one  case,  more  is 
being  constantly  added  to  its  infinity,  while  in  the  other,  that 
which  is  infinite  is  being  forever  diminished  and  still  remains 
infinite,  and  must  forever  continue  in  order  to  give  the  contrast 


170  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

by  which  the  good  is  to  be  known  as  really  good.  The  mart 
who  is  so  constituted  that  he  can  behold  the  worst  side  of 
nature,  or  see  life  and  character  in  their  worst  forms,  without 
himself  becoming  a  misanthrope;  who  can  see  a  rhythmically 
constant  development  of  what  is  good  in  nature;  see  life  and 
character  ever  becoming  better  until  there  is  no  comparison 
between  their  present  and  their  former  states,  without  himself 
becoming  an  enthusiast,  must  be  of  a  peculiarly  equable  seren- 
ity. He  who  can  exhibit  all  this  to  his  fellow  man,  show  him 
all  its  evils  and  all  its  blessings,  and  neither  weary  nor  disgust 
his  reader;  keep  the  beholder's  attention  constantly  riveted  upon 
the  scene  he  paints,  and  never  exhibit  himself  in  the  transac- 
tion is  certainly  one  of  the  artists  of  nature. 

He  it  is  who  makes  the  impression  that  modifies  the  char- 
acter of  his  thoughtful  reader,  that  leaves  him  better  than  he 
finds  him.  That  the  human  mind  is  susceptible  to  impressions 
is  our  only  assurance  of  culture;  and  this  susceptibility  must 
have  characterized  the  very  one  by  whom  the  culture  is  to  be 
promoted,  or  he  could  never  have  acquired  the  capacity  there- 
for. Such  susceptibility  to  impressions,  which  can  be  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  phase  of  the  temperament,  or  one  of  its 
incidents,  is  an  accident  to  the  individual.  He  is  neither  blame- 
worthy nor  praiseworthy  for  having  it  in  any  degree;  no  more 
so  than  for  his  physical  constitution,  or  any  of  his  native  ten- 
dencies. It  may  be  objected  that  the  result  of  this  reason- 
ing, if  it  rises  to  the  dignity  of  such  name,  might  be  the 
obliteration  of  all  distinction  between  the  evil  and  the  good 
every  where  prevailing,  or  supposed  to  be  prevailing. 

it  does  not  necessarily  follow.  Disquisition  on  all  subjects, 
in  order  to  reach  results,  must  conform  to  law.  All  questions 
must  have  two  sides.  Without  probabilities  and  differences 
between  them,  there  can  be  no  question.  Where  there  is  no 
question  there  must  be  absolute  certainty.  Certainty  cannot 
be  an  appropriate  subject  of  disquisition  but  of  assertion  or 
declaration.  Disquisition  implies  doubt  and  difference,  and  in 
most  cases  the  apparent  reasonableness  of  contradictory  ideas. 
It  is  the  office  of  disquisition  by  reasoning  to  remove  such 
doubt  and  adjust  or  settle  such  difference ;  and  when  it  is  done, 


nature's  poet.  171 

there  results  an  augmentation  of  knowledge,  in  which  there 
may  be  as  near  an  approach  to  certainty  as  the  mind  is  capable 
of.  But  the  process  must  be  strictly  legitimate,  or  the  result  is 
likely  to  be  wrong,  in  which  case  there  can  result  no  trust- 
worthy knowledge,  but  mere  delusion.  Susceptibility  to  im- 
pressions being  the  basis  of  all  culture,  and  being  purely  fortu- 
itous to  the  individual,  the  result  of  his  intellectual  development 
depends  upon  the  manner  in  which  he  is  impressed  by  the 
factors  constituting  his  environment.  Man  is  born  with  his 
tendencies  and  his  susceptibilities,  their  modification,  from 
whatever  source  it  may  come,  is  his  education,  his  culture. 
Those  who  assume  to  teach  proceed  necessarily  upon  the 
theory  of  their  subjects  being  so  susceptible,  and  that  they  have 
themselves  been  properly  impressed  by  the  factors  which  have 
constituted  their  environment  and  are  thereby  adapted  to  the 
office,  and  possessed  of  the  means  necessary  to  accomplish  the 
improvement  which  should  be  the  prime  object  of  all  literary 
effort.  The  means  themselves  may  be  ever  so  various,  but  it 
is  characteristic  of  the  soul  that  its  pabulum  is  more  gratefully 
relished  and  more  assimilable  when  duly  seasoned  with  that 
which  entertains,  than  when  taken  in  the  stern  and  tedious 
form  of  unpolished  and  unadorned  philosophy. 

To  the  charge  of  unnecessary  digression  1  would  suggest 
that  one  take  the  philosophy  of  the  poem  in  question,  and  no 
deeper  or  truer  one  was  ever  written,  and  clothe  it  in  terms 
purely  philosophical  and  prosaic,  and  then  compare  it  with 
The  Ages,  and  it  will  appear  that  1  have  kept  within  close 
range  of  the  main  point  in  this  dissertation,  which  is  to  show 
the  superiority-  and  grandeur  of  the  truly  Republican  intellect  of 
the  man  whose  works  1  would  exhibit  in  their  true  character, 
to  those  who  seem  to  have  recognized  in  them  merely  some 
comparatively  pleasing  poetry.  The  language  may  afford  some 
specimens  of  finer  and  perhaps  more  poetical  poetry,  but  such 
philosophy  as  he  teaches  seldom  finds  expression  in  such  terms 
as  he  uses.  They  are  adapted  to  the  improvement  of  the  mind 
which  is  capable  of  appreciating  them,  because  the  thought 
they  convey  is  adorned  in  a  garb  well  suited  to  it,  and  which 
makes  it  decidedly  fascinating;  the  thought  insinuating  itself 


172  ETHICS   OF   LITERAtURE. 

into  the  mind,  while  //  regales  itself  at  an  exhibition  of  the 
beauties  of  poetry.  The  matter  is  not  merely  palatable,  it  is 
delectable;  and  to  read  it  without  being  fiivorably  impressed, 
implies  either  a  diminutive  capacity  or  perverse  obstinacy  in 
the  reader. 

The  poet  has  written  for  the  edification  of  the  reader,  the 
artist  has  painted  for  the  entertainment  of  the  spectator;  and 
each  stroke  of  the  pen  and  pencil  is  an  eloquent  appeal  to  the 
better  instincts  of  man.  No  ostentatious  humility,  no  perplex- 
ing mysticism,  no  imperious  mannerism,  exhibits  the  author  or 
the  artist  with  such  personal  prominence  as  to  divert  attention 
from  the  subject.  The  place  and  destiny  of  man  was  his  sub- 
ject, and  his  heart  was  tilled  with  it.  While  he  wrote  for  the 
race  he  was  essentially  American  and  instinctively  Republican 
in  his  literary  proclivities,  the  result  of  his  environment  and  its 
impressions  upon  him,  and  which  to  him  were  fortuitous. 
His  conception  of  typical  man  was  unavoidably  imbued  with 
the  idea  he  had  unavoidably  conceived  of  the  typical  American ; 
and  no  travel  study  and  observation  could  ever  eradicate  or 
neutralize  it.  And  it  is  all  the  better  for  literature  and  for  man 
that  they  could  not.  That  he  happened  to  be  born  west  in- 
stead of  east  of  the  Atlantic,  that  his  surroundings  were  such 
as  to  conduce  to  his  being  imbued  with  republican  instead  of 
monarchical  sentiments,  that  he  was  susceptible  to  the  im- 
pressions which  made  or  moulded  his  character  to  what  his 
works  clearly  show  that  it  was,  that  he  had  the  native  ability 
constituting  the  raw  material  of  which  such  a  character  could 
be  constituted,  or  from  which  it  could  and  did  evolve,  were 
matters  for  which  he  was  in  no  way  responsible,  and  to  which 
neither  merit  nor  demerit  can  be  ascribed. 

Snarling  cynicism  may  ask,  "then  upon  what  account  is  he 
entitled  to  be  praised  ?"  The  answer  is  obvious.  Upon  none 
whatever.  "Why  should  he  be  praised  ?"  Again  the  answer 
is  obvious.  For  his  own  sake  he  should  not  be.  He  did  not 
write  for  praise.  He  happened  to  be  in  touch  with  the  prevail- 
ing sentiment  of  his  age  and  country,  and  happening  to  be  so 
inclined,  he  utilized  his  fortuitous  gifts  for  the  betterment  of 
man.     Those  capable  of  appreciating  him  and  his  influence, 


nature's  poet.  173 

come  nearer  favoring  and  honoring  themselves  than  him,  when 
they  manifest  such  capacity  and  appreciation  in  their  attempts 
to  accord  him  the  meed  of  his  merit. 

In  simplicity  and  grandeur  the  meditation  on  the  subject  of 
death,  which  is  in  reality  a  great  sermon  upon  the  subject  of 
life,  is  probably  the  most  remarkable  exhibition  of  the  power 
of  human  weakness  ever  made  in  so  small  a  compass.  The 
very  substance  which  soon  must  go: — 

"To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 

Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon," 

in  two  brief  pages  takes  a  broad  and  comprehensive  view  of  the 
great,  the  grand,  the  awful,  yet  the  common  destiny  of  man. 
Life  is  exhibited  as  merely  a  temporary  suspension  of  death,  and 
as  only  in  and  amidst  death.  Its  very  breath  is  a  combination  of 
exhalations  from  the  decaying  substances  which  were  once 
animated  in  the  same  manner,  and  inspired  by  the  same  spirit 
which  inspires  the  poet  to  sing  this  dreadful  dirge  of  destiny. 
The  substance  of  the  same  mind  which  gives  to  the  world  this, 
the  truest  and  most  highly  wrought  of  all  views  of  the  end,  or 
rather  metamorphosis  of  earthly  existence,  realizes  that  "the 
oak  shall  send  its  roots  abroad  and  pierce"  its  mould  and 
extract  therefrom  the  substance  that  will  one  day  in  another 
state,  form  the  gibbet  from  which  the  culprit  may  be  launched 
into  eternity,  and  encase  and  entomb  all  that  is  inortal  ot  future 
emulators  of  the  example  of  the  poet.  The  zenith  of  his  civili- 
zation is  a  quasi  cannibalism  where  the  living  of  to-day  feast 
and  fatten  on  the  substance  of  the  dead  of  yesterday ;  on  the 
vegetation  and  animal  flesh  extracted  therefrom,  which  in  turn 
has  in  nature's  great  chemical  laboratory  itself  extracted  the 
substance  of  its  growth  from  the  decaying  bodies  of  nature's 
earlier  poets  and  priests  who  have  sung  her  praises  and  preach- 
ed her  precepts  to  primeval  man. 

"     *      *      *      *     As  the  long  train 

Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men, 

The  youth  in  lifes  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 

In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 


174  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man — 

Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 

By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them." 

Though  separated  in  the  volume  by  more  than  three  hund- 
red pages,  the  Thanatopsis  and  The  Flood  Of  Years  seem  to 
be  so  essentially  alike  that  they  might  well  be  taken  for  merely 
separate  parts  of  one  and  the  same  poem.  They  both  so  pict- 
ure the  great  pageant  of  Nature,  that  the  momentary  flash  of 
an  individual  existence  becomes  so  insignificant,  that  one 
almost  loses  consciousness  of  his  ov^n  existence  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  awful  grandeur  of  the  whole  as  there  presented. 

"     *     *      *       *     How  the  rushing  waves 

Bear  all  before  them.     On  their  foremost  edge 

And  there  alone,  is  Life.     The  present  there 

Tosses  and  foams,  and  fills  the  air  with  roar 

Of  mingled  noises.     There  are  they  who  toil, 

And  they  who  strive,  and  they  who  feast,  and  they 

Who  hurry  to  and  fro.       *  *  * 

*  *  *        *  *  *        * 

I  look,  and  the  quick  tears  are  in  my  eyes. 

For  I  behold  in  every  one  of  these 

A  blighted  hope,  a  separate  history 

Of  human  sorrows,  tel.ing  of  dear  ties 

Suddenly  broken,  dreams  of  happiness 

Dissolved  in  air.         *        *        *         » 

In  view  of  such  scenes  as  these  it  is  difficult  to  conceive 
how  one  of  the  greatest  known  physicists  could  say  that  "all 
our  feelings  and  emotions  from  the  lowest  sensation  to  the  high- 
est tcsthetic  consciousness,  have  a  mechanical  cause."  This 
may  be  true,  but  if  the  vivid  views  of  Life  and  Death  in  the  Flood 
Of  Years  are  aesthetic  consciousnesss.  it  would  seem  to  require 
a  remarkable  abasement  of  them  or  of  such  consciousness,  or 
else  a  remarkable  exaltation  of  mechanics,  to  render  it  possible 
for  there  to  be  between  them  any  thing  in  common.  If  hope, 
despair,  envy,  emulation,  pride,  humiliation,  courage,  fear, 
grief,  joy,  and  the  like  are  feelings  or  emotions,  and  if  they  are 
within  the  range  of  sensation  and  aesthetic  consciousness,  it 
would  seem  that  the  Savant  of  Sound  was  putting  it  strong  in 
saying  that  all  our  feelings  and  emotions  have  a  mechanical 


nature's  poet.  175 

cause.  Bryant  had  feeling  and  emotion  and  gave  it  beautiful 
expression  when  he  wrote, 

"Sadly  1  turn  and  look  before,  where  yet 
The  Flood  must  pass,  and  1  behold  a  mist 
Where  swarm  dissolving  forms,  the  brood  of  Hope." 

He  seems  to  have  seen  the  great  cavalcade  of  humanity  troop- 
ing to  the  trump  of  the  threnode  of  all  life,  and  the  thrills  of  his 
heart  reverberating  throughout  The  Flood  Of  Years  could  not 
very  appropriately  be  attributed  to  a  mechanical  cause.  In 
contemplation  of  the  awful  destiny  awaiting  all  life,  in  retro- 
spection of 

"The  silent  ocean  of  the  Past,  a  waste 
Of  waters  weltering  over  graves," 

the  emotion,  feeling,  sensation,  or  forsooth,  the  aesthetic  con- 
sciousness which  burst  forth  in  the  flame  of  poetic  fire  in  the 
light  of  which  The  Flood  Of  Years  is  so  vividly  painted,  seems 
to  be  a  very  tine  product  indeed  to  owe  its  existence  to  a 
mechanical  cause. 

But  an  unnecessary  and  unprofitable  dispute  about  cause 
may  become  a  mere  play  upon  words;  while  the  actual  dis- 
cernment and  due  appreciation  of  excellence  may  be  thereby 
obstructed  or  possibly  prevented.  And  what  is  merit  ?  Is  it 
the  condition,  state,  or  quality  of  deserving  approval  ?  And 
what  are  the  qualities  which  entitle  one  to  approval  ?  Is  not 
the  most  important  one  sincerity  ?  Is  there  an  expression  of 
thought  in  all  Bryant's  poems  which  is  delinquent  in  that 
respect.^  Is  there  a  dearth  of  deep  and  true  philosophy  in  the 
three  poems  especially  noticed  ?  And  do  they  not  imply  their 
author's  acquaintance  with  the  wisdom  of  the  physicists  and 
geognosts,  in  which  scoffers  and  wiseacres  see  the  utter  demo- 
lition of  the  basis  for  the  hope  that  buoyed  his  spirit,  and  with 
which  he  sought  to  exalt  the  spirit  of  his  fellowmen  ?  Opti- 
mistic sophistry  may  engage  in  the  charitable  enterprise  of 
attempting  to  convince  mankind  that  all  things  in  nature  are 
ordered  by  Omniscient  Wisdom  and  Benignant  Benevolence 
for  the  greatest  good  of  all  and  of  each;  but  it  has  never  yet 
logically  and   effectually  reasoned  the  pain  out  of  punishment. 


176  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

the  damage  out  of  disease,  or  the  dread  out  of  the  contempla- 
tion of  death.  It  may  sometimes  offer  a  pseudo-consolation  in 
the  reflection  that  misery  might  have  been  more  miserable,  and 
in  the  malignantly  grateful  assurance  that  others  have  suffered, 
and  others  still  must  suffer  perhaps  more  intenselv  than  the 
dupe  of  such  sickening  solace. 

Philosophy  has  a  different  office.  Time  was  when  it  even 
affected  to  plume  itself  with  a  stoical  indifference  to  all  passion 
and  a  supremacy  over  all  affection.  But  true  philosophy  finds 
in  the  order  and  economy  of  nature  an  abundance  of  distress, 
which  stubbornly  refuses  to  be  talked  into  delight.  It  finds  in 
man  a  susceptibility  to  this  distress,  in  its  countless  forms 
and  conditions,  which  stubbornly  refuses  to  be  talked  into  in- 
sensibility thereto.  It  also  finds  in  nature  an  abundance  of  the 
raw  material  for  the  production  of  enjoyment;  and  in  man  the 
appropriate  predilection  and  capacity  to  utilize  and  realize  upon 
it  when  properly  prompted.  Nature's  priests  who  happen  to 
strike  the  right  vein  in  their  sacerdotals,  or  who  do  strike  it 
whether  fortuitously  or  purposely,  they  whose  life  works  are 
intelligent  effort  at  the  betterment  of  man,  being  intelligent 
endeavor  to  bring  him  into  more  cordial  harmony  with  the  in- 
flexible facts  and  fiat  of  nature,  are  the  real,  and  should  be  the 
properly  accredited  missionaries  to  our  mundane  mirk;  and 
there  resounds  not  to  the  trump  of  such  fiime,  a  nobler  name 
than  that  of  the  author  of  The  Flood  Of  Years.  Were  the  pre- 
dilection and  capacity  of  man  so  unyielding  as  the  two  former 
qualities  or  quantities  with  which  philosophy  must  deal,  the 
distress,  and  man's  susceptibility  thereto,  all  effort  at  meliora- 
tion would  be  idle.  In  modulating  them  to  the  tune  of  man's 
necessary  existence  and  environment,  philosophy  performs  the 
highest  and  holiest  function  of  its  oflice.  The  apparent  apathy 
of  the  subject  of  its  solicitude  renders  it  politic  for  philosophy 
to  utilize  another  characteristic  of  the  subject  of  its  concern; 
the  prevailing  penchant  for  entertainment  at  exhibitions  of  the 
mysterious  and  the  poetical.  By  this  means  it  arrests  and 
holds  the  attention,  without  which  it  can  impart  little  benefit. 

Sustained  attention  is  the  result  of  effort,  either  of  the  one 
by  whom  it  is  given,   or  of  the  one  by  whom  it  is  evoked. 


nature's  poet.  177 

There  is  less  difference  in  the  respective  totals  of  what  is  actu- 
ally known  by  the  several  savants  assuming  the  miter  and 
ephod  in  literature,  all  of  them  knowing  next  to  nothing,  than 
there  is  in  their  several  capacities  to  profitably  impart  that 
which  they  think  they  know.  The  human  mind  is  almost 
universally  endowed  with  a  weakness  for  flattery,  which  de- 
lights in  the  quasi  compliment  of  being  required  to  figure  out 
for  itself  the  result  of  a  proposition  when  it  is  barely  hinted  in 
something  purporting  to  be  propounded  more  as  an  entertain- 
ment of  the  recipient  or  pastime  of  the  proponent,  than  as  an 
actual  discipline  to  the  one  or  dogma  of  the  other.  The  author 
who  assumes  that  his  readers  know  some  things,  and  then 
makes  his  allusions  accordingly,  sufficiently  obscure  to  excite 
curiosity  and  reflection,  yet  not  so  obscure  as  to  defeat  or  dis- 
courage speculation,  does  more  by  such  method  than  is  possi- 
ble by  any  other  to  promote  genuine  manly  independent 
thought,  and  hence  the  highest  order  of  intellectual  develop- 
ment. 

If  intellectual  development  is  the  object  of  book-writing,  no 
measure  could  be  so  effective  as  to  put  men  to  thinking.  Some 
authors,  and  most  writers  (for  there  is  a  marked  distinction 
between  them)  seem  to  want  to  do  even  the  thinking  for  their 
readers.  When  one's  writings  become  more  conspicuous  for 
their  compass  than  for  their  substance,  he  becomes  more  emi- 
nently a  writer  than  an  author;  and  while  it  might  be  asking 
too  much  to  require  him  to  hold  his  tongue  (or  his  pen)  until 
he  is  prepared  to  make  known  something  theretofore  unknown, 
yet  authorship  ought  to  imply  some  originality.  And  this  orig- 
inality ought  to  pervade  more  than  the  mere  form.  Still  many 
of  the  wisest  saws  the  most  gravely  put,  are  old  and  hackney- 
ed truisms  remoddled  and  rehashed  for  the  edification  of  a 
reading  rabble  which  is  expected  to  see  merit  and  originality 
in  something,  the  substance  of  which  they  may  have  always 
known,  merely  because  some  word  monger  has  tricked  it  out 
in  new  colors. 

If  suggestion  is  one  of  the  most  potent  factors  in  literature, 
potent  for  the  promotion  of  the  progress  which  all  candid  per- 
sons must  admit  to  be  the  noblest  aim  of  its  votaries,  our  late 


178  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

Laureate  has  couched  more  in  the  same  compass  than  any 
known  poet;  and  he  has  more  effectively  suggested  than  any 
known  author.  It  would  not  be  in  good  taste  to  extend  the 
comparison  to  the  mere  writer.  He  points  you  to  nature.  He 
does  not  attempt  to  see  it  for  you,  but  if  you  read  his  poems 
as  they  deserve  to  be  read,  he  enables  you  to  see  it  for  yourself. 
At  the  risk  of  tedium  to  the  reader  I  make  another  quota- 
tion, and  this  time  from  the  poem  entitled  "Earth,"  which 
occurs  to  me  as  a  fitting  factor  in  this  humble  effort  to  exhibit 
in  their  true  light,  the  works  of  one  of  the  greatest  men  that 
ever  adorned  the  noblest  of  all  callings. 

"Earth  Uplifts  a  general  cry  for  guilt  and  wrong, 
And  heaven  is  listening.     The  forgotten  graves 
Of  the  heartbroken  utter  forth  their  plaint. 
The  dust  of  her  who  loved  and  was  betrayed, 
And  him  who  died  neglected  in  his  age; 
The  sepulchres  of  those  who  for  mankind 
Labored,  and  earned  the  recompense  of  scorn; 
Ashes  of  maityrs  for  the  truth,  and  bones 
Of  those  who,  in  the  strife  for  liberty. 
Were  beaten  down,  their  corses  given  to  dogs, 
Their  names  to  infamy,  all  fnid  a  voice. 
*•)(■**  *  *  * 

What  then  shall  cleanse  thy  bosom,  gentle  Earth, 
From  all  its  painful  memories  of  guilt  ? 
The  whelming  flood,  or  the  renewing  fire, 
Or  the  slow  change  of  time  ? — that  so,  at  last, 
The  horrid  tale  of  perjury  and  strife 
Murder  and  spoil,  which  men  call  history, 
May  seem  a  fable." 

Having  made  this  quotation,  and  casually  turning  the  leaves 
of  the  volume,  I  am  impressed  with  a  sense  of  the  impropriety 
of  directing  special  attention  to  any  one,  instead  of  to  any  other 
of  the  poems,  and  the  selection  seems  more  a  chance  than  a 
choice,  for  if  excellence  is  sought  it  cannot  be  missed  in  open- 
ing the  volume  at  random.  1  believe  that  history  has  never 
been  defined  with  more  accuracy,  nor  perhaps  with  more 
melancholy,  than  as  "the  horrid  tale  of  perjury  and  strife,  mur- 
der and  spoil;"  and  that  few  persons  have  manifested  so  fine  a 
sense  of  justice  as  to  imagine  that  Earth  herself  should  "Uplift 


i 


nature's  poet.  179 

a  general  cry  for  guilt  and  wrong;"  or  a  more  profound  appre- 
ciation of  providential  punition  than  that  which  inspired  the 
note  that  "heaven  is  listening." 

But  to  be  as  prosaical,  even  as  cold-blooded  as  physics  or 
metaphysics  dare  be: — suppose  number  were  adequate  to  the 
calculation  of  the  aggregate  bulk  of  the  once  living  bodies 
which  have  sprung  from  and  returned  to  the  earth ;  suppose 
"all  our  feelings  and  emotions,  from  the  lowest  sensation  to 
the  highest  aesthetic  consciousness  have  a  mechanical  cause," 
then  why  should  not  Earth  uplift  a  general  cry  for  guilt  and 
wrong  ?  Has  not  every  atom  of  its  superficial  substance  at 
some  time  figured  in  the  formation  of  animated  existence  in 
some  form  ?  When  biologists  inform  us  that  life  and  death  are 
mere  stages  of  a  chemical  process,  a  form  of  integration  and 
diffusion  of  matter,  the  substance  of  which  comes  ultimately 
from  the  earth,  generated  therefrom  by  the  influence  of  light 
and  heat  from  the  sun,  they  declare  the  existence  of  such  rela- 
tion between  man,  and  his  Mother  Earth  and  Solar  Sire,  as 
justifies  the  poet  in  giving  vent  to  his  mechanically  caused 
emotion,  indulging  his  mechanically  caused  fancy  and  mechan- 
ically imagining  the  existence  of  such  a  mechanically  caused 
sympathy  as  would  prompt  the  earth  to  "Uplift  a  general  cry 
for  guilt  and  wrong,"  and  such  a  mechanically  caused  solicitude 
on  the  part  of  the  solar  side  of  the  parentage,  as  would  insure 
that  "heaven  is  listening." 

If  the  sun  impregns  the  earth,  fructifies  it  with  the  life  which 
does  and  suffers  the  guilt  and  wrong,  if  "heaven's  blest  beam" 
generates  and  maintains  the  motion  which  takes  form  in  the 
human  life  which  is  in  great  measure  itself  feeling  and  emotion, 
then  heaven  may  well  be  supposed  to  be  solicitously  listening 
to  the  earth's  general  cry  for  guilt  and  wrong,  and  perhaps  all 
feelings  and  emotions  may  as  well  be  supposed  to  have  a 
mechanical  cause. 

At  his  advent  upon  this  scene,  the  weight  of  the  average 
individual  is  generally  sufficient  to  tip  the  beam  at  nine  pounds; 
and  if  he  maintains  his  individuality  for  the  average  period,  it 
may  reach  the  average  of  about  one  hundred  and  forty-nine 
pounds.     To  say  nothing  at  present  about  where  the  first  nine 


l80  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

pounds  come  from,  suppose  we  inquire  whence  the  additional 
one  hundred  and  forty  pounds  ?  The  question  is  generally 
brushed  aside  with  the  worse  than  no  answer  that  "he  grows." 
We  know  the  medium  through  which  the  first  nine  pounds 
come,  the  parentage,  which  we  know  to  be  from  that  very 
fact,  devotedly  attached  to  and  solicitous  for  the  new  individual. 
But  they  are  only  the  medium  through  which  is  transmitted 
about  one-seventeenth  of  the  final  form  and  substance  of  the 
subject  of  their  love  and  solicitude,  and  are  not  in  any  sense 
the  creators  or  origin  of  it,  or  of  any  part  of  it.  The  medium 
through  which  is  transmitted  the  additional  one  hundred  and 
forty  pounds  may  not  be  very  discernible,  but  the  additional 
one  hundred  and  forty  pounds  is  not  in  the  individual  until  it 
comes  to  him.  and  it  cannot  come  to  him  without  coming  from 
some  where,  and  through  or  by  means  of  some  medium.  This 
where  and  this  medium  have  about  sixteen  times  as  much  in 
the  individual  as  the  known  parentage  has,  which  parentage  is 
only  a  medium  through  which  the  first  seventeenth  part  was 
introduced,  took  form,  not  existence,  because  it  existed  before 
in  some  other  where  and  in  some  other /or;;/. 

We  see  and  know  the  love  and  solicitude  of  the  medium 
we  recognize  for  the  individual  thev  introduce,  not  produce; 
and  we  recognize  therein  the  most  beautiful  aspect  or  feature 
of  human  existence.  We  see  that  love  and  know  that  solici- 
tude to  continue  for  years  after  all  the  product  which  was  in- 
troduced by  that  medium  has  disappeared  from  the  individual, 
and  even  after  several  septennial  changes  have  substituted  en- 
tirely different  substance  in  the  individual  from  that  which  con- 
stituted him  when  he  first  took  form  and  was  introduced  as  an 
individual  upon  the  scene;  after  the  atoms  of  indestructible  yet 
ever  changing  matter  which  once  formed  a  Cain  or  an  Iscariot 
have  entered  into  the  composition  of  a  Brooks  or  a  Bryant. 

There  is  in  the  earth  and  its  gasses  a  source  from  which  all 
this  substance  comes  to  form  the  individual,  and  in  nature  a 
medium,  apart  from  the  apparent  parentage  of  the  first  seven- 
teenth, through  which  sixteen  seventeenths  of  it  is  transmuted 
into  him.  If  physics  posits  this  much,  and  it  certainly  does, 
why  may  not  poetry  imagine   that  love  and  solicitude  of  the 


NATURES   POEt.  l8l 

same  quality  pervade  the  bosom  of  the  Mother  Earth  and  the 
Celestial  Sire  for  their  offspring  ?  Does  not  the  poet  in  doing 
so,  logically  follow  the  physicist  ?  Indeed,  is  not  the  physicist 
himself  the  first  and  most  fanciful  poet  ?  As  wildly  as  the 
poet  may  soar,  his  imagination  must  pierce  heaven  in  its  flight 
if  it  is  to  keep  pace  with  the  speculations  of  the  staid  and  mat- 
ter of  fact  physicist  who  attributes  all  results,  even  feelings,  and 
emotions,  to  a  mechanical  cause.  Take  the  soberest  and  most 
profound  advocate  of  the  doctrine  of  biogenesis,  and  trace  his 
dogmas  to  their  necessary  logical  results;  and  if  they  are  true, 
they  justify  the  most  visionary  and  chimerical  whims  of  the 
muse.  His  cardinal  point  is  that  life  can  only  come  from  pre- 
existent  life,  and  abiogenesis  is  an  absurdity  with  which  he  has 
no  patience.  With  him,  evolution,  the  complex  chemical  pro- 
cess which  Force  is  performing  in  nature's  boundless  laboratory, 
is  a  mere  affiliation  of  atoms  or  units  of  substance  according  to 
their  chemical  affinities,  into  organisms,  temporarily  existing 
and  possessing  characters  composed  of  the  sum  total  of  the 
tendencies  of  each  atom  or  unit  of  substance  entering  into  the 
organism,  as  modified  by  the  agglomeration  and  environment. 
Some  of  these  organisms,  among  which  is  man,  when  once 
organized,  display  a  characteristic  which  the  philosophy  of 
biogenesis  denominates  heredity,  and  upon  which  its  advocates 
confidently  base  much  of  their  argument  for  the  doctrine.  The 
same  philosophy  also  traces  these  organisms,  including  man, 
to  their  elements  in  the  earth  and  its  gaseous  envelopment,  and 
attributes  all  feeling  and  emotion  to  mechanical  causes;  and 
teaches  that  evolution  is  itself  rhythmically  followed  by  disso- 
lution, and  that  the  formative  atoms  or  units  of  substance  are 
repeatedly  redistributed  to  their  elemental  spheres  in  the  earth 
and  its  gaseous  envelopment. 

Mechanical  causes  are  necessarily  manifestations  of  force 
upon  the  subject  which  it  causes  to  have  the  feeling  and 
emotion.  Of  what  is  that  subject  composed  so  as  to  be  sus- 
ceptible to  the  mechanical  cause  exerted  or  procured  by  force  ? 
Physicists  say  it  is  composed  of  atoms  of  air  (or  its  gaseous 
components)  which  has  rushed  in  tornadoes,  and  been  breathed 
by  itself  irf  millions  of  millions  of  organisms  from  time  unthink- 


182  ETHlCS   OF   LITERAtUfie. 

able;  and  of  earth  (or  its  components)  the  entire  substance  of 
the  surflice  oi  which  has  often  arisen,  walked  upon  itself,  done 
deeds  of  daring,  committed  all  kinds  of  crime,  and  hid  itself 
again  in  its  own  bosom;  and  of  water  (or  its  components) 
which  has  often  drenched  and  drank  and  drowned  itself — and  if 
they  are  correct  in  this  and  other  of  their  deductions  or  declar- 
ations, each  atom  or  unit  of  substance  must  all  along  have 
possessed  the  peculiar  tendency  which  in  such  combination 
contributes  to  mould  the  character  of  the  individual  organism 
into  the  composition  of  which  it  happens  to  enter. 

If  the  atoms  had  not  such  tendencies  as  contributed  in  com- 
bination to  mould  the  character  of  the  organism  in  which  they 
combine,  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  heredity  of  char- 
acter or  characteristic  in  organisms  related  to  preceding  and 
succeeding  each  other.  Every  atom  of  the  substance  compos- 
ing the  individual  organism  of  man  is  gone  therefrom,  and 
others  substituted  in  their  stead  during  the  first  seven  years  of 
its  existence  as  an  individual,  and  changes  no  less  complete 
take  place  during  each  and  every  succeeding  seven  years  of 
such  existence.  So  that  while  those  atoms  which  constitute 
the  first  seventeenth  part  of  the  ultimate  individual  organism, 
may  have  been  tinctured  with  traits  of  character  by  the  medium 
through  which  they  have  combined  to  form  such  individual 
organism,  and  by  which  it  is  introduced  in  such  form,  yet  that 
medium  clearly  cannot  impart  any  of  its  traits  of  character  to 
the  atoms  subsequently  accruing,  and  being  substituted  for 
those;  it  cannot  impress  its  characteristics  on  an  organism,  the 
constituent  atoms  of  which  have  not  come  in  contact  with  it. 
And  within  seven  years  from  its  introduction  upon  the  scene 
as  such,  the  individual  organism  contains  not  an  atom  of  the 
substance  of  which  it  was  composed  when  being  introduced 
by  such  medium,  not  an  atom  that  is  known  to  have  ever 
come  in  contact  with  such  medium,  but  is  constituted  of  other 
and  distinct  atoms. 

These  septennial  changes  which  biologists  call  periods  of 
the  process  of  waste  and  repair,  are  said  to  complete  themselves 
every  seven  years.  If  the  quality  or  tendency  constituting 
heredity  of  character  or  characteristic  is  not  in  the  primary 


NAtURE^S   POET.  185 

atoms  themselves,  independent  of  the  medium  by  or  through 
which  the  individual  organism  is  introduced  upon  the  scene; 
and  if  such  quality  or  tendency  is  imparted  to  such  atoms  by 
such  medium,  to  be  by  them  imparted  to  such  atoms  as  sub- 
sequently combine  with  them  and  take  their  place  in  the  indi- 
vidual organism  and  constitute  its  growth,  there  may  result 
inextricable  confusion  in  the  final  formation  of  the  character  to 
be  produced  by  such  combination  and  inherited  from  such 
medium.  The  waste  will  carry  ott  those  atoms  which  would 
tend  to  produce  or  maintain  certain  characteristics  imparted  to 
the  individual  organism  by  the  medium  of  its  introduction; 
while  the  repair  is  supplying  others  to  be  tinctured  with  traits 
by  remaining  atoms  of  very  different  qualities  or  tendencies. 
All  the  moral  courage,  mental  capacity,  gentleness,  or  trait  of 
any  kind  which  the  individual  organism  may  inherit  from  the 
medium  of  its  introduction,  may  entirely  disappear  from  it 
during  the  first  seven  years  of  its  individual  existence  and 
heredity  may  fail  to  permanently  entail  any  ancestral  charac- 
teristic, unless  it  be  the  tendency  to  change. 

Perhaps  there  are  persons  to  whom  this  may  appear  chim- 
erical ;  but  it  is  a  legitimate  and  logical  deduction  from  the 
tenets  of  the  prevailing  philosophy,  or  I  am  seriously  at  fault  in 
my  law  and  in  my  logic;  or  1  fail  to  apprehend  in  their  true 
inwardness,  the  doctrines  of  the  prevailing  philosophy.  And 
some  one  who  has  not  attentively  read,  may  inquire  what 
business  the  apparent  digression  can  have  in  such  a  disserta- 
tion on  the  philosophy  of  Bryant's  poetry ;  and  if  the  inquiry 
shall  be  thoughtfully  and  seriously  made,  1  will  at  least  have 
put  the  inquirer  to  thinking;  which  will  of  itself  save  a  literary 
effort  from  being  a  total  failure. 

While  1  should  not  do  that  for  the  doing  of  which  1  have 
already  expressed  a  general  censure,  that  is,  offer  to  do  the 
reader's  thinking  for  him,  perhaps  I  ought  to  make  more  mani- 
fest, the  purpose  of  the  digression.  1  have  proceeded  in  this 
chapter  to  consider  the  philosophy  of  the  writings  of  Nature's 
Poet.  1  have  said  but  little  of  the  poetry  merely  as  such, 
because,  while  1  esteem  it  highly,  yet  in  nearly  all  his  pieces 
the  philosophy  so  overshadows  the  poetry  that  they  become 


1 84  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

poetical  philosophy,  rather  than  philosophic  poetry.  My  pur- 
pose latterly  has  been  to  trace  some  of  the  tenets  of  physics  to 
such  results  as  to  show  that  the  philosophy,  in  what  some  may 
regard  the  mere  vagaries  of  an  unrestrained  and  delirious  im- 
agination, is  equally  as  conservative  and  rational  as  that  of  the 
avowed  physicist,  who  affects  a  condescending  commiseration 
for  the  weaklings  who  cannot,  or  at  least  who  do  not.  attribute 
all  feelings  and  emotions  to  a  mechanical  cause. 

No  philosophical  speculation  can  result  in  establishing  a 
belief  more  rationally  justifiable  than  that  reasoned  out  in  the 
poem  entitled  "The  Prairies,"  although  the  piece  seems  to  be 
little  more  than  a  bare  allusion  to  a  race  whose  existence  and 
extinction  in  a  very  remote  antic^uity  are  implied  in  the  mounds : 

"That  overlook  the  rivers,  or  that  rise 

ill  the  dim  forest  crowded  with  old  oaks." 

It  is  one  of  the  instances  in  which  the  author  puts  his  reader  to 
thinking,  and  when  the  propositions  implied  in  the  poem  are 
carefully  thought  out,  and  considered  in  the  light  of  prevalent 
philosophy,  they  are  found  to  be  far  more  philosophical  than 
poetical;  but  no  more  suggestive  of  really  profitable  specula- 
tion than  the  inquiry: — 

When  we  descend  to  dust  again, 
Where  will  the  final  dwelling  be 
Of  thought,  and  all  its  memories  then  ?" 

In  Other  words,  what  becomes  of  the  soul  ?"  And  the  answer 
is  to  be  gathered  from  the  expressions  of  faith  and  of  hope  in 
which  almost  all  his  psalms  are  deeply  intonated. 

I  am  at  this  point  constrained  to  offer  an  apology  for,  or 
rather  a  vindication  of,  my  apparent  departure  from  the  theme 
and  thread  of  my  discourse,  to  ramble  amid  the  maze  of  meta- 
physics. On  another  occasion  I  have  said  that  notliing  is 
known  absolutely,  but  that  whatever  is  known  is  known  only 
in  relation.  Merit  is  only  known  as  such  in  contrast  with 
demerit;  good  is  good  only  in  contrast  with  evil;  sense  is  sense 
only  in  contrast  with  nonsense.  That  which  has  asserted  and 
justly  established  its  claim  to  respect  and  confidence,  thereby 
becomes  a  standard  by  which  the  merit  of  other  attempts  of  a 


Nature's  poet.  185 

kindred  type  may  be  tested.  The  greatest  philosopher  the 
world  ever  knew  delivered  some  of  the  finest  discourses  phil- 
osophy ever  produced,  on  the  most  sublime  subject  philosophy 
ever  considered,  in  discussing  a  subject  unfit  to  be  named  in 
modern  literature.  And  he  does  not  appear  to  have  en- 
gaged in  the  discussion  of  the  unnameable  subject  seeking  an 
occasion  to  deliver  the  particular  discourse,  but  to  have  deliver- 
ed it  in  order  to  maintain  his  argument  and  position  in  the 
discussion. 

I  have  not  descanted  in  metaphysics  solely  for  the  purpose 
of  asserting  what  some  may  regard  my  chimerical  views,  but 
to  vindicate  my  claim  that  Bryant  was  essentially  a  greater 
philosopher  than  poet.  This  can  be  done  only  by  testing  the 
philosophy  of  his  poetry  by  the  established  standards,  or  by 
the  necessary  logical  results  of  its  legitimate  deductions.  And 
when  they  are  traced  to  their  logical  results,  and  are  found  to 
involve  ideas  and  suppositions  which  would  stagger  the  ex- 
travagance of  a  poet,  he  may  justly  be  regarded  the  more  con- 
servative and  rational  of  the  two  classes  of  philosophers.  When 
he  asked  the  question,  (substantially)  what  becomes  of  the 
soul  ?  he  voiced  the  universal  cry  that  rings  forth  from  the 
aching  void  in  every  human  heart  that  ever  pulsed ;  the  irre- 
pressible and  insolvable  problem  that  has  perplexed  every 
mind  that  ever  meditated ;  and  which  was  never  more  ration- 
ally responded  to  than  in  his  piece  entitled  "The  Two  Graves." 
The  response  there  given  is  in  keeping  with  the  description  of 
the  nature  of  the  soul  itself,  given  by  the  greatest  of  all  souls 
twenty-two  centuries  ago,  when  he  said,  "For  every  body 
which  is  moved  from  without  is  soulless;  but  that  which  is 
moved  from  within  possesses  a  soul,  since  this  is  the  very 
nature  of  the  soul.  But  if  this  be  the  case,  that  there  is  noth- 
ing which  moves  itself  except  soul,  soul  must  necessarily  be 
both  uncreate  and  immortal." 

But  neither  of  these  philosophers  has  expressed  anything 
more  than  his  faltering  faith  on  this  subject.  Neither  of  them 
knew,  nor  has  any  one  else  known,  that  he  or  they  were 
nearer  the  truth  than  the  doctrinaire  of  any  other  conceivable 
theory.     Still  they  have  both,  and  so  have  others,  cultivated 


1 86  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

the  general  intellect  and  promoted  mental  attainment  by  de- 
voting their  lives  to  the  consideration  of  subjects  palpably  and 
hopelessly  beyond  the  power  of  all  human  minds  to  compre- 
hend. They  both  strive  to  get  back  to  first  principles,  but  no 
mind  can  ever  get  back  of  them. 

But  if  as  Socrates  has  said,  the  nature  of  the  soul  is  the 
spiritual  embodiment  of  motion;  if  it  is  moved  within  and  of 
itself  and  not  by  means  of  anything  from  without;  then  has 
the  poet  well  sung,  and  the  philosopher  better  said : — 

"  'Tis  said  that  when  life  is  ended  here, 

The  spirit  is  borne  to  a  distant  sphere; 

That  it  visits  its  earthly  home  no  more. 

Nor  looks  on  the  haunts  it  loved  before.' 

But  why  should  the  bodiless  soul  be  sent 

Far  off,  to  a  long,  long  banishment  ? 

Talk  not  of  the  light  and  the  living  green. 

It  will  pine  for  the  dear  familiar  scene; 

It  will  yearn,  in  that  strange  bright  world,  to  behold 

The  rock  and  the  streani  it  knew  of  old. 

'Tis  a  cruel  creed,  believe  it  not. 

Death  to  the  good  is  a  milder  lot. 

They  a'e  here, — they  are  here, — that  harmless  pair, 

In  the  yellow  sunshine  and  llowing  air, 

In  the  light  cloud-shadows  that  slowly  pass. 

In  the  sounds  that  rise  from  the  murmuring  grass. 

They  sit  where  their  humble  cottage  stood. 

They  walk  by  the  waving  edge  of  the  wood, 

And  lost  to  the  long  accustomed  flow 

Of  the  brook  that  wets  the  rock  below, 

Patient,  and  peaceful,  and  passionless 

As  seasons  on  seasons  swiftly  press, 

They  watch,  and  wait,  and  linger  around. 

Till  the  day  when  their  bodies  shall  leave  the  ground." 

But  as  beautifully  as  this  begins  and  proceeds,  the  last 
couplet  is  a  blur  upon  poetry;  and  it  is  an  unaccountable  de- 
parture from  the  principles  of  philosophy  implied  in  the  Than- 
antopsis.  I  have  shown  that  there  he  was  in  line  with  the 
physicists  who  teach  that  when  the  bodies  of  the  aged  pair 
would  leave  the  ground,  they  would  go  as  impalpable  gases, 
the  atoms  of  which,  in  nature's  inscrutable  chemistry,  would 
agglomerate  in  other  forms  of  life,  vegetal,  then  animal,  and 


Nature's  poet.  187 

again   return   for  a   time   to  the  earth,  at  once  the  universal 
sepulchre  and  nursery  of  all  life. 

But  the  offence  is  rare,  and  is  redeemed  in  many  of  his 
musings;  notably  in  the  Hymn  to  Death,  of  which  he  says: — 

"     *     *     *     I  will  teach  the  world 

To  thank  thee.     Who  are  thine  accusers  ? — Who  ? 

The  living — they  who  never  felt  thy  power, 

And  know  thee  not.     The  curses  of  the  wretch, 

Whose  crimes  are  ripe,  his  sufferings  when  thy  hand 

Is  on  him,  and  the  hour  he  dreads  is  come, 

Are  writ  among  thy  praises.     But  the  good — 

Does  he  whom  thy  kind  hand  dismissed  to  peace 

Upbraid  the  gentle  violence  that  took  off 

His  fetters,  and  unbarred  his  prison-cell  ? 

Raise  then  the  hymn  to  Death.     Deliverer  ! 

God  hath  annointed  thee  to  free  the  oppressed 

And  crush  the  oppressor.         *      *      *      * 

*        *        *        *        *        *        *.* 

*****     Thou  dost  avenge. 
In  thy  good  time,  the  wrongs  of  those  who  know 
No  otherllriend." 

It  is  quite  beyond  my  purpose  to  attempt  to  exhibit  all  the 
excellencies,  poetical  and  philosophical,  in  Bryant's  poetry, 
which  would  require  an  exhibition  of  nearly  all  his  poetry. 
But  if  there  is  not  a  cruel  satire  (which  can  scarcely  be  imputed 
to  him)  there  seems  to  be  at  least  a  ghastly  philosophy  in  the 
attempt  to  derive  consolation  from  the  ravages  of  the  grim  de- 
stroyer; yet  he  appears  to  have  done  so  without  in  any  degree 
degrading  or  departing  from  the  spirit  of  manliness  and  mag- 
nanimity constantly  pervading  his  works.  He  shows  death 
with  its  icy  claws  dealing  a  double  blow,  the  most  vindictive 
vengeance,  and  the  mildest  mercy  in  one  stroke. 

i<     *     *     *     ^Q^  Jqjj^  jI^q^j  interpose 

Only  to  lay  the  sufferer  asleep, 

Where  he  who  made  him  wretched  troubles  not 

His  rest — thou  dost  strike  down  his  tyrant  too." 

But  human  weakness  asserts  its  puny  strength  in  the  de- 
delight  with  which  he  beholds  the  wreaking  of  vengeance: — 

"Oh,  there  is  joy  when  hands  that  held  the  scourge 
Drop  lifeless,  and  the  pitiless  heart  is  cold." 


l88  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

But  this  is  very  natural,  and  Bryant  was  pre-eminently 
nature's  poet. 

I  have  said  that  the  wise  themselves  know  next  to  noth- 
ing. What  is  wisdom  ?  Are  its  definitions  more  than  mere 
synonyms  ?  Does  it  not  partake  more  of  the  character  of  a 
condition  or  qualitative,  than  of  a  quantity  or  substantive  ?  Is 
not  the  state  or  condition  of  being  conversant  with  and  appre- 
ciative of  nature,  as  nearly  a  correct  definition,  and  even  de- 
scription of  wisdom  in  the  abstract  as  can  be  given  ?  If  so, 
was  not  Bryant  a  remarkably  wise  man  ?  Now  in  all  that  he 
has  written,  what  single  fact  has  he  made  known  ?  Has  he  in 
anything  done  more  than  give  to  the  world  the  impressions 
made  upon  himself  by  the  phenomena  in  nature,  the  constitu- 
ent factors  of  his  environment  ?  If  so,  what  is  it  ?  More  than 
thirty  centuries  before  he  wrote,  the  Prince  of  complainers  is 
reputed  to  have  said,  "Behold,  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  that  is 
wisdom ;  and  to  depart  from  evil  is  understanding."  And  all 
the  learned  jargon  with  which  the  world  has  since  been  con- 
tinuously deluged,  has  not  advanced  the  standard  an  iota. 

Still,  a  great  deal  that  is  written  is  not  in  vain;  prominent 
amid  which  are  the  works  of  this  philosophic  Poet.  If  he  has 
not  actually  produced  and  given  to  the  world  something  there- 
tofore unknown,  perhaps  it  is  because  "there  is  no  new  thing 
under  the  sun;"  but  he  certainly  suggests  very  suggestively, 
and  if  his  works  are  attentively  read  the  reader  will  be  put 
seriously  to  thinking.  The  result  must  necessarily  be  left  with 
him,  but  if  he  is  properly  susceptible  to  impressions,  and  will 
put  himself  in  Bryant's  way,  he  will  be  properly  impressed, 
and  royally  entertained. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS. 
Criticism  vs.  Production — Culture  the  only  legitimate  Purpose  of  Literature — 
its  Purport  not  Generally  Understood — The  Masses  Affect  a  Taste  tor  that 
Which  they  cannot  Comprehend — Pedantry  Displays  Writer's  Resources 
Without  Promoting  Reader's  Intellectual  Attainment — Obligations  of 
Writers — Scene  of  the  Table  Round — Legendary  Origm  of  Arthur — Excali- 
bur  the  Cross-Hilted  Sword — Poetry's  Weakness  for  Similitudes — Gareth's 
Inspiration — His  Mother's  Dissimulation — His  Exploits — -Geraint  Casually 
Meets  the  Queen — Insulted  by  Dwarf  of  Stranger  Knight — Traces  the  Ver- 
min to  their  Earth— Entertained  by  Yniol — in  Love  with  Enid — Overcomes 
Edyrn— Marries  Enid — Jealousy  and  Brutality — Absurdity  of  Plot  and  De- 
nouement— Merlin  and  Vivien — Romance  Overdone — Lancelot  and  Elaine- 
Over-virtuous  Rake — The  Holy  Grail — Ambrosius  and  Percivale — The 
Blunting  and  Glancing  and  Shooting  of  Love — The  Nun's  Vision — Lance- 
lot's Bastard  Galahad — The  Siege  Perilous — Second  Death  of  Metlin — 
Descent  of  the  Gr.iil — -The  King  Fighting  on  the  Frontier  While  his  Knights 
Revel  at  the  Table  Round— Arthur's  Return — The  Order  Disperses  in  Quest 
of  the  Grail — Enoch's  Translation  Out-done — Percivale  Meets  a  Widow 
who  had  been  His  first  Love — Invited  to  Marry — Pelleas  and  Ettarre — Her 
insolence  to  the  Queen — His  Persistent  Suit — -Gawain's  Intervention  and 
Perfidy — Pelleas'  Magnanimity — -Repairs  to  the  Cloister — Rushes  There- 
from, Rides  Down  a  Crippled  Beggar,  Attacks  Lancelot,  is  Overthrown, 
Follows  Him  to  Arthur's  Hall,  and  Insults  Lancelot  and  the  Queen — 
Modred  Appears— The  Last  Tournament — Tristram  and  Dagonet  Philoso- 
phize— Nestling's  Rubies,  Prize  at  Tournament — Awarded  to  Tristram — 
His  Amour  with  Isolt — Mark's  Way — Insipidity  of  Denouement — Guine- 
vere— Modred  Hounds  Her  Trying  to  Learn  Facts  that  Everyone  Knew — 
His  Hatred  to  Lancelot — The  Queen's  Flight  to  the  Sanctuary — Madness  of 
Farewells  with  Lancelot — Her  last  Interview  with  Arthur — Passing  of 
Arthur — Battle  in  Lyonesse— Chancel  and  Cross  in  Heathen  Wilderne5s — ■ 
Elaborated  Disposition  of  Excalibur— High-toned  Twaddle— Beauty  of  The 
Enoch  Arden— Unphilosophic  Philosophy  of  the  In  Memoriam. 

It  is  SO  much  easier  to  detect  error  than  to  produce  that 
which  is  meritorious,  that  vain  ambition  and  low  capacity  are 
prone  to  seek  distinction  in  disparaging  that  which  they  can- 
not comprehend.  The  most  intelligent  and  candid  criticism 
may  be  mistaken  for  the  cynical  sneer  of  inferiority,  depending 
upon  the  relative  prestige  of  the  Reviewer  and  his  subject. 
Hence  the  Reviewer  must  bring  to  his  undertaking  an  author- 


igO  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

itative  title,  or  come  prepared  to  demonstrate  the  validity  and 
force  of  his  strictures.  In  the  one  case  opinion  is  all  he  need 
express,  and  no  reason  for  it  is  required;  while  in  the  other 
demonstration  is  requisite,  and  opinion  without  conclusive  arg- 
ument will  bring  its  presumptuous  possessor  into  contempt. 

The  prime  purpose  in  Literature  is  culture,  and  the  Re- 
viewer undertakes  to  distinguish  matter  likely  to  promote  it, 
from  that  which  has  not  such  tendency.  As  a  motive  or  ex- 
cuse for  thrusting  one's  self  into  prominence,  the  mere  enter- 
tainment of  the  reader  is  little  better  than  the  profit  of  the  writer; 
and  is  too  frequently  expected  to  inure  to  the  writer's  profit 
and  prominence  in  quickening  a  market.  When  writers  have 
once  attained  to  prominence  it  is  too  frequently  observable  that 
their  energies  relax,  that  they  thereafter  merely  write,  appear- 
ing to  expect  plebeian  readers  to  read  and  imagine  they  are  en- 
tertained— that  they  will  not  dare  to  see  plain  obtuseness  where 
by  fashion's  flat  they  are  bid  to  behold  inscrutable  genius  or 
covert  wit, — and  as  to  culture — that  they  do  not  grasp  the 
most  irksome  and  obscure  enigma  implies  its  defect,  which 
genius  and  wit  are  too  busy  (displaying  themselves)  to  repair. 

In  Literature  the  masses  are  mere  followers,  and  popularity 
is  the  intensified  echo  of  the  casual  commend  of  the  leaders. 
The  psuedo-Republic  of  Letters  is  an  arrogant  Oligarchy,  and 
the  smile  or  frown  of  its  Lords  is  the  life  or  the  death  of  the 
untitled  aspirant  to  distinction  and  usefulness.  The  run  which 
some  trash  has  cannot  otherwise  be  explained.  Much  of  it  is 
read  by  many  who  never  suspect  its  purport,  the  purport  of 
much  of  it  is  never  apprehended  by  its  writers,  and  much  of 
it  is  without  purport;  but  it  passes  muster  by  the  capricious 
favor  of  upper-tendom,  or  the  prestige  of  its  writers,  and  a 
servile  serfdom  responds  in  plaudits  and  patronage.as  unintel- 
ligible as  the  learned  obscurity  itself,  an  affected  taste  for  in- 
stead of  a  due  appreciation  of  which  is  the  popular  mark  of 
culture. 

The  writers  of  the  Idylls,  the  Apology,  and  the  Excursion, 
may  have  known  what  they  meant  in  those  monuments  to 
their  memory,  but  they  have  successfully  concealed  it  from  the 
great  masses  of  their  readers ;  still,  most  readers  are  unwilling 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  I9I 

to  confess  a  coarseness  that  could  not  relish  reading  them.  In 
other  words  and  plainer,  they  glory  in  their  shame,  affect  an 
exquisite  taste  for  that  which  they  cannot  taste,  and  are  most 
supremely  happy  when  most  superbly  hoaxed. 

There  are  few  worse  drawbacks  from  the  usefulness  of  the 
exhibitions  of  the  genius  of  the  great  than  the  profuse  pedantry 
pervading  them,  showing  that  they  were  intended  more  to 
display  their  writer's  resources  than  to  augment  the  wisdom 
or  promote  the  culture  of  their  readers ;  and  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  the  more  obscure  and  eccentric  they  are,  the  more  they 
are  revered  by  the  amazed  masses  mistaking  exuberant  verbi- 
age for  copious  thought.  A  common  event  or  an  idle  and 
absurd  legend  may  become  a  great  epic,  it  may  be  made  unin- 
telligibly profound  by  artistic  distortion  of  idiom,  iteration  may 
become  plenary  inspiration,  the  moral  may  be  even  more  ob- 
scure than  the  matter,  interspersion  of  trite  philosophy  may  seta 
world  wondering  at  the  wisdom  of  the  oracle  who  darkly  tells 
it  that  which  it  already  clearly  knew. 

It  can  make  no  difference  what  style  one  affects  in  assum- 
ing literary  proportions,  so  f^ir  as  concerns  his  obligations  to 
mankind.  He  impliedly  undertakes  to  give  to  the  world  some- 
thing in  consideration  of  the  honor  he  expects  it  to  give  him; 
and  while  the  relation  is  not  necessarily  one  of  mere  traffic,  yet 
obligations  are  mutual  and  reciprocal.  The  world  profits  by 
the  existence  of  genius  only  when  it  is  properly  exerted,  until 
when  it  owes  nothing  to  the  casual  custodian  (and  perhaps 
abuser)  of  the  talent.  An  author  assumes  to  teach,  and  his 
work  should  be  a  thing  divine,  it  may  endure  and  wield  an  in- 
fluence. It  is  inexcusably  frivolous,  no  matter  how  pompous- 
ly or  solemnly  it  may  be  done,  to  go  to  the  palpably  unreal  for 
subject  matter  unless  it  is  more  entertaining  than  the  real, 
which  it  cannot  be  except  to  a  perverted  taste;  and  when  it  is 
considered,  as  it  should  be,  that  an  author  ought  to  have  a 
fact  to  make  known,  a  doctrine  to  declare,  or  an  idea  to  ex- 
press, worth  his  reader's  attention,  it  is  worse  than  idle  to  take 
their  time  and  toil  with  that  which  can  no  more  than  display 
the  genius  of  the  writer,  unless  it  be  to  further  vitiate  the  taste 
of  the  reader. 


192  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

Mindful  of  and  actuated  by  such  considerations,  and  realiz- 
ing that  success  lies  only  in  actual  demonstration,  less  than 
which  means  the  contempt  of  an  arrogant  regime  for  that 
which  (if  it  deigns  to  notice  it)  it  will  denounce  an  upstart 
audacity,  1  approach  my  subject;  not  attempting  to  take  any 
one  from  the  pedestal  upon  which  Fame  may  have  set  and 
enshrined  him,  but  candidly  to  inquire  by  what  right  and  for 
what  reason  it  has  done  so. 

About  fifteen  centuries  ago  the  speck  which  has  long  sway- 
ed the  scepter  of  civilization  was  a  dark,  dank,  and  dismal 
domain  of  forest,  fen,  and  ferocity;  the  gloom  of  which  was 
but  slightly  relieved  in  occasionally  organized  rapine.  A 
fecund  Fancy,  to  inspire  us  with  veneration  for  the  chivalrous 
magnanimity  of  a  half  naked  barbarism,  creates  characters 
whose  improvised  characteristics  are  as  hopelessly  out  of  joint 
with  the  times  of  which  it  speaks,  as  its  depictions  thereof  are 
discordant  with  the  times  ///  which  it  speaks. 

Distance  lending  enchantment  to  the  view  in  time  as  in 
space,  an  object  obscurely  seen  against  an  ambiguous  back- 
ground with  which  it  confusedly  blends,  takes  its  form  for  the 
ob.server  from  his  fancy.  Vision,  mental  or  optic,  is  seldom 
content  with  indistinct  images;  and  where  no  definite  outline 
individualizes  its  subjects,  more  effort  is  required  to  suppress 
the  effort  to  complete  them,  than  to  delude  the  vision  with 
Fancy's  conceited  complement  of  them.  The  remoteness  of 
the  scene  may  make  it  difficult  to  furnish  that  which  is  super- 
added to  the  subject  from  kindred  or  congruous  matter  in  space 
or  in  time,  and  when  it  is  finally  decked  out  in  Fancy's  capri- 
cious colors  it  may  be  more  a  caricature  than  a  plausible  pres- 
entation of  it.  Legend  may  have  created  or  preserved  the 
name  and  fame  of  some  hero,  alleged  to  have  lived  at  some 
time  and  place,  which  may  be  well  known  to  have  been  an 
age  and  region  of  beastly  barbarism.  Reason  suggests  that  if 
he  lived  and  was  famous,  it  was  for  conspicuous  success  or 
excess  in  that  which  most  distinctively  characterized  his  time 
and  place. 

While  history  does  not  deny,  it  very  cautiously  concedes, 
that  Arthur  (Artus)  may  have  been  chief  of  the  Silures;  but  it 


J 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  I95 

positively  affirms  that  they  were  a  tribe  of  barbarians  who  had 
not  meliorated  the  ferocity  of  forest  life  in  South  Wales  in  the 
fifth  century,  and  records  an  abundance  of  fact  irreconcilable 
with  his  having  acquired  the  celebrity  which  ancient  legend 
and  modern  poetry  accord  him,  for  such  traits  and  deeds  as 
such  legend  and  poetry  attribute  to  him. 

While  it  is  physically  possible  that  after  the  times  of  Caesar, 
Strabo,  and  Tacitus,  and  before  those  of  Llymarch,  Myrdhin, 
and  Thalliesin,  these  savages  may  have  become  so  enlightened 
as  to  make  cheese,  it  does  not  appear  that  they  had  made 
parchment  of  the  skins  in  which  they  were  clad  and  inscribed 
thereon  in  their  war  paint  any  authentic  record  of  such  pro- 
gress. The  absence  from  history  of  such  information  implies 
that  at  the  time  of  "The  Coming  of  Arthur"  they  were  still 
clad  in  skins,  dyed  with  woad,  and  that  forests  were  their 
cities,  with  logs  and  mud  for  castles,  in  which  they  feasted  on 
flesh  and  milk.  Some  modern  conservative  and  candid  chron- 
iclers of  historical  fact  allude  to  the  martial  myth  in  terms  more 
rational  than  poetical,  and  one  of  them  concludes  that:  "The 
events  of  his  life  are  less  interesting  than  the  singular  revolu- 
tions of  his  fame;"  from  which  the  natural  inference  is  that 
what  we  know  of  Arthur  mainly  consists  in  what  we  don't 
know.  Waiving  the  significance  of  the  fact  that  very  few  of 
the  names  of  either  persons  or  places  immortalized  in  the 
poem  are  mentioned  in  any  credible  history,  and  conceding 
that  they  may  have  existed  and  been  known  as  there  named ; 
it  remains  to  inquire  if  the  plan,  the  plot,  and  the  performance 
of  the  piece  called  The  Idylls  of  the  King,  are  not  more  strain- 
ed, unnatural,  and  glaringly  preposterous  than  the  narrative  is 
improbable. 

According  to  the  most  authentic  information  available 
Arthur  must  have  come  from  some  forest  fastness  in  South 
Wales,  where  the  more  refractory  of  the  vanquished  aborigines 
from  accessible  parts  of  the  Island  had  sought  relief  from  the 
restraints  of  Roman  rule.  A  chief  of  a  tribe  of  savages,  clad  in 
skins  and  war  paint,  fed  on  flesh  and  milk,  too  ignorant  to 
make  cheese,  living  in  mud  and  log  huts  in  the  forest,  is  not 
likely  to  be  actuated  by  such  magnanimity  as  to  go  disinterest- 


194  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

edly  to  the  relief  of  another  such  chief  of  another  such  tribe, 
when  they  are  so  Httle  acquainted  that  the  ancestry  of  the  one 
is  a  hidden  mystery  to  the  other.  The  mind  recoils  from  the 
proof  of  the  liberator's  ancestry,  made  to  the  liberated  by  in- 
cantations, before  he  would  consent  to  a  family  alliance  with 
his  benefector.  It  is  even  more  unnatural  that  the  "fairest  of 
all  flesh"  should  stand  by  the  castle  wall  to  watch  him  pass,  in 
a  country  where  the  wolves  stole  and  devoured  children,  and 
in  default  of  brood  of  their  own  lent  their  tierce  teat  to  human 
sucklings.  Had  there  been  castle  walls  on  the  Tiber  when  the 
wolf  suckled  the  founder  of  the  Eternal  City,  the  shades  of 
Romulus  and  Remus  might  be  alarmed  for  their  laurels. 

The  description  of  Arthur's  coronation,  graphically  given  to 
King  Leodogran  by  "Lot's  wife,  the  Queen  of  Orkney,  Beli- 
cent,"  where  among  other  prodigies  she  saw  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake  give  him  his  huge  cross  hilted  sword  wherebv  to  drive 
the  heathen,  is  no  more  discordant  with  the  idolarty  and  human 
immolation  practiced  in  his  own  tribe,  than  the  allusion  in  the 
preceding  stanza  to  the  cross  and  those  around  it  and  the  cruci- 
fied is  with  the  fright  of  the  missionaries  sent  there  by  the  Pope 
near  a  century  later.  Excalibur  seems  to  have  had  too  many 
miraculous  origins;  at  another  time  Arthur  wrenched  it  from  a 
stone  floating  in  a  lake. 

It  is  no  less  unnatural  or  absurd,  that  when  King  Leodo- 
gran had  diplomatically  hesitated  sufficiently  to  assert  his  royal 
dignity,  and  was  by  the  childish  recital  of  grotesque  manifesta- 
tions of  the  supernatural  convinced  of  his  deliverer's  dignity, 
and  had  sent  him  the  fairest  of  all  flesh  on  earth  (as  he  had  all 
along  intended  to  do)  that  the  royal  nuptials  should  be  solem- 
nized by  so  distinguished  an  ecclesiastic  as  "Dubric  the  high 
saint,  chief  of  the  church  in  Britain,"  when  it  is  remembered 
that  Christianity  was  first  introduced  there  more  than  a  century 
later,  and  the  King  of  the  most  civilized  of  the  British  States 
would  only  hear  the  missionary  in  open  air,  for  fear  of  sorcery 
in  case  he  should  submit  to  hear  him  in  an  enclosure. 

Still  worse  is  the  allusion  to  the  final  rupture  with  Rome, 
precipitated  by  the  impolite  and  impolitic  avarice  of  Arthur's 
imperial  and  imperious  wedding  guests  from  "the  slowly  fad- 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  1 95 

ing  Mistress  of  the  world."  Arthur  himself  did  not  beam  with 
the  delight  which  usually  thrills  a  bridegroom,  but  seems  to 
have  refused  the  tribute  with  more  defiance  than  decorum. 
Leodogran  had  just  "groaned  for  the  Roman  legions  here 
again,  and  Caesar's  Eagles;"  and  the  groans  of  the  Britons 
were  unheeded,  although  they  were  emphasized  with  an  offer 
of  the  very  tribute  now  so  gruffly  refused. 

The  coming  of  Arthur  is  entirely  too  heroic  for  the  time  and 
place  in  which  he  came. 

I  have  objected  to  philosophy's  weakness  for  parallels, 
which  is  itself  paralleled  in  poetry's  weakness  for  similitudes. 
Gareth  was  inspired  to  his  valorous  deeds  by  a  very  prosaical 
circumstance,  one  which  would  have  had  but  little  significance 
for  a  person  unaware  that  he  was  destined  the  hero  of  some 
idyll,  it  is  as  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  denizen  of  the 
forest  of  the  fifth  century  expected  to  be  lionized  in  the  poetry 
of  the  nineteenth,  as  to  suppose  that  he  was  spurred  to  his 
errantry  by  the  incident  which  is  said  to  have  fired  him  with  its 
chili.  Standing  near  a  mountain  stream  swollen  with  cold 
snow  he  is  said  to  have : — 

"Stared  at  the  spate.     A  slender  shafted  Pine 
Lost  footing,  fell,  and  so  was  whirled  away." 

That  he  "stared  at  the  spate,"  is  a  poetical  way  to  say  that 
he  beheld  the  river  flood.  At  all  events  it  is  said  that  way  in 
a  very  fashionable  and  aristocratic  poem.  "The  last  tall  son  of 
Lot  and  Belicent"  seeing  the  sapling  whirled  away  in  the  catar- 
act, was  impressed  with  a  sense  of  a  senseless  stream  swollen 
with  cold  snow,  .consciously  doing  the  Maker's  will,  (con- 
forming to  the  law  of  gravitation)  while  he,  having  sense  and 
wit,  and  teeming  with  hot  blood,  lingered  in  vascillating  obedi- 
ence in  his  good  mother's  hall.  The  capacity  to  catch  on  was 
wonderfully  developed.  He  was  a  very  susceptible  youth,  and 
the  rebuke  was  too  much  for  him.  The  sapling's  fall  and 
flight  in  the  flood  suggested  some  false  knight  or  evil  king 
going  down  before  his  lance,  if  lance  were  to  his  use,  and  he 
swelled  with  ambition  and  burned  with  an  indefinite  thirst  for 
the  gore  of  some  fifise  knight  or  evil  king.     And  he  proposed 


196  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

to  slake  this  indefinite  thirst  as  soon  as  he  could  disengage 
himself  from  his  mother's  apron  strings.  After  a  prolonged 
puerile  parley  with  his  mother,  begging  that  he  might  go  to 
glory,  she  finally  consented  that  he  might  "follow  the  Christ, 
the  King,  live  pure,  speak  true,  right  wrong,  follow  the  King;" 
but  only  on  a  condition  such  as  mothers  seldom  impose  on 
their  ambitious  fledgelings.  He  surprised  her,  and  marred  the 
picture  of  princely  pride  softened  with  filial  love  so  laboriously 
wrought ;  and  exposed  his  mother's  dissimulation,  her  pretense 
that  the  condition  was  meant  to  test  his  love  instead  of  pre- 
vent his  going.  He  accepted  her  terms  and  agreed  for  "a 
twelve-month  and  a  day,  to  serve  with  scullions  and  with 
kitchen  knaves." 

Readers  of  romance  may  spoil  its  effect  in  their  eagerness 
to  anticipate  its  denouement;  or  they  may  discover  it  were 
waste  of  time  to  read  up  to  it.  Where  time  and  attention  are 
to  be  discreetly  invested,  a  glance  at  the  conclusion  may  show 
the  folly  of  tracing  the  thread  through  the  tangle  to  the  event. 
The  reader  of  Gareth  and  Lynette  who  toils  through  more  than 
thirty  pages  of  distorted  idiom  stiltedly  displaying  a  rapid  suc- 
cession of  factitious  predicaments  to  see  it  peter  out  in  a  tame 
conjecture  as  to  the  fate  of  its  hero,  is  poorly  compensated  for 
such  disappointment  in  the  amusement  it  may  have  been  to 
trace  the  devious  turbulence  of  the  knight  in  his  errantry.  While 
minor  matters  are  minutely  attended  to,  that  which  is  of  most 
importance  to  its  hero,  and  of  greatest  interest  to  the  reader,  is 
brushed  aside  with  scarcely  a  surmise  as  to  its  issue.  The  in- 
ference is,  that  having  flashed  from  Arthur's  kitchen  to  Lyon- 
ors,  castle,  having  walked  lengthwise  (following  Christ)  over 
three  invincible  foes,  having  burst  Death's  bubble  and  shown 
Lynette  and  Lyonors  that  "after  all  their  foolish  fears  and  hor- 
rors it  was  only  proven  a  blooming  boy,"  the  Meteor  married 
one  of  them.  The  colors  and  trappings  of  the  chargers,  the 
arms  and  attire  of  their  riders,  the  places  of  the  several  en- 
counters, the  preliminaries  thereto  and  the  precipitations  there- 
of, the  blows  struck  in  each,  by  whom,  and  their  effect,  and 
many  more  matters  are  carefully  noted,  and  the  reader  is  left 
to  guess  which  of  the  heroines  the  hero  married. 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  1 97 

The  Qiieen  having  overslept  (dreaming  of  her  lecherous 
lover  Lancelot)  came  late  to  a  chase,  and  Geraint  casually  came 
to  where  she  and  her  maid  were  waiting  to  witness  the  sport. 
While  engaged  in  familiar  banter  resembling  the  refined  repar- 
tee of  the  nineteenth  century  more  than  the  coarse  jest  of  the 
fifth,  they  noticed  a  strange  knight  lady  and  dwarf  passing. 
True  to  the  instincts  of  her  sex  the  Qiieen  burned  with  a  curi- 
osity to  know  who  the  knight  was  and  sent  her  maid  to  inquire 
of  the  dwarf  He  resented  the  intrusion — striking  the  maid 
with  his  whip.  Except  the  usual  short  sword  he  wore,  Ger- 
aint was  unarmed,  but  he  valiantly  approached  the  formidable 
dwarf  and  demanded  his  master's  name.  The  dwarf  gave  him 
a  similar  though  more  severe  hint  to  attend  to  his  own  busi- 
ness, striking  him  in  the  face  with  his  whip,  making  the  blood 
fly.  Geraint's  magnanimity  saved  the  dwarf,  and  he  returned 
to  the  queen  proposing  to  avenge  the  insult  done  her  in  her 
maid's  person,  and  to  track  the  vermin  to  their  earths.  It  is 
strange  that  he  did  not  think  of  avenging  the  insult  done  the 
Qiieen  in  her  maid's  person  until  he  received  a  lash  of  the  same 
whip.  If  the  dwarf  had  politely  told  him  his  master's  name 
it  might  have  spoiled  a  story.  But  Geraint  then  started  on  an 
expidition  of  knight-errantry  to  kill  the  stranger  for  his  dwarf's 
rudeness,  the  Qiieen  bid  him  God-speed  and  promised  to  dress 
his  bride  (when  found)  like  the  sun.  So  far  as  the  poem  is 
concerned  the  chase  is  abandoned,  indicating  that  it  was  had 
solely  to  bring  these  characters  upon  the  scene,  and  give  Ger- 
aint the  occasion  to  display  his  daring,  and  his  devotion  to  the 
Queen.  He  followed  the  stranger  and  his  retinue  for  twelve 
hours,  until  the  vermin  reached  their  earths. 

His  next  quest  was  a  night's  lodging,  and  arms  with  which 
to  fight  the  foe  who  was  unaware  of  his  existence,  and  whose 
dwarf  had  shown  his  own  (not  his  master's)  bad  temper.  He 
found  every  one  busy  preparing  for  a  tourney  to  be  held  next 
day.  He  finally  found  a  ruined  castle  occupied  by  Yniol,  his 
wife,  and  daughter  Enid.  Coincidence  is  the  soul  of  romance, 
and  Yniol  had  been  deprived  of  his  earldom  by  the  same  ver- 
min whom  Geraint  was  pursuing  (Edyrn,  the  son  ofNudd) 
because  he  had  refused  him  Enid  in  marriage.     Yniol  kept 


198  ETHICS   OF   LITER AtURfe. 

Geraint  over  night  and  armed  him  next  morning  for  the  fray 
with  Edyrn  who  had  not  yet  learned  of  his  existence,  to  say 
nothing  of  his  grievance.  The  town  gathered  at  the  lists  to  see 
Edyrn's  mistress  as  usual  at  his  command  take  an  undisputed 
prize  and  were  dumbfounded  to  hear  Geraint  crv  "forbear, 
there  is  a  worthier."'  But  i  do  not  understand  the  bustle  and 
hurry  in  the  preparation  of  arms  the  day  before  if  there  was  no 
contest  expected.  If  it  was  a  foregone  fact  that  Edyrn  would 
take  the  prize  without  a  fight,  and  the  town  had  gathered  as 
usual  to  see  his  mistress  go  through  the  accustomed  perfunc- 
tory ceremony  of  receiving  it,  there  could  have  been  but  little 
occasion  for  the  hurry  in  preparation  of  arms  which  Geraint 
found  on  his  arrival  at  the  town,  tracing  the  vermin  to  their 
earths.  However,  to  the  general  consternation,  Edyrn  was 
forced  to  fight.  Our  hero  of  course  overthrew  him,  placed  his 
foot  on  his  breast,  extorted  his  name  and  his  promise  to  apolo- 
gize to  the  Queen  for  his  dwarfs  rudeness  (which  he  probably 
learned  of  at  this  time)  and  his  promise  to  restore  his  wronged 
uncle  Yniol  all  his  possessions.  He  then  married  Enid,  but 
not  until  he  had  humiliated  her  by  forcing  her  to  go  to  Arthur's 
court  in  her  old  clothes  to  be  by  the  Queen  clothed  "for  her 
bridals  like  the  sun." 

The  honey-moon  was  spent  at  the  Table  Round,  but  some 
scan.  mag.  being  bruited  about,  involving  the  Queen's  fair 
fame,  Geraint,  although  he  discredited  it,  became  alarmed  lest 
Enid  incur  a  taint,  and  he  took  her  and  hied  him  to  his  own 
marches.  Arriving  there  and  revelling  in  the  requital  of  his 
love  to  the  neglect  of  public  affairs,  he  soon  became  the  object 
of  opprobrium  which  Enid  noticed  before  he  did.  She  was 
hanging  over  him  one  morning  before  he  awoke,  deploring  the 
bad  state  of  his  affairs,  soliloquizing,  and  blaming  herself  with 
his  reproach,  and  he  awoke  to  catch  disjointedly  the  last  few 
words  of  her  monologue, — "Oh  me,  I  fear  that  I  am  no  true 
wife."  Coupling  this  fragment  with  her  occasional  sadness, 
her  tears  then  moistening  his  bosom,  the  chivalrous  knight 
who  had  scorned  the  scandal  of  the  court  jumped  at  the  chim- 
erical conclusion  that  his  own  Enid  was  "Weeping  for  some 
gay  knight  in  Arthur  hall."     This  is  very  vague  and  indefinite 


Obscurity  and  profusion  as  indications  of  genius.       1 99 

jealousy,  and  it  flames  on  a  very  slight   provocation.     Truant 
wives  seldom  weep  on  the  bosoms  of  their  injured  husbands. 

It  were  idle  to  trace  them  through  all  the  terrible  tests  to 
which  he  then  put  her  love,  fidelity,  and  endurance;  but  he 
made  for  the  frontier,  driving  her  before  him  in  the  same 
"foded  silk"  in  which  he  had  mortified  her  when  she  first  ap- 
peared in  Arthur's  court;  and  giving  her  peremptory  orders  to 
hold  her  tongue,  showing  his  childish  tyranny  and  how  little 
he  knew  of  woman.  Meeting  many  marauders  on  the  way, 
she,  to  warn  him  of  danger,  repeatedly  violated  his  repeatedly 
renewed  order,  and  he  after  repeatedly  bequeathing  her  to  the 
better  man  in  case  of  his  fall,  closed  successively  and  success- 
fully with  each  band  and  vanquished  them.  Lest  he  become 
too  invincible  for  the  hero  of  an  Idyll  he  managed  to  receive  a 
secret  wound  from  the  effect  of  which  he  fainted,  after  killing 
the  one  who  had  wounded  him,  and  he  was  carried  to  the 
hall  of  a  border  ruffian  chief  who  conveniently  came  along  on 
one  of  his  occasional  forays.  There  he  was  laid  out  for  dead 
and  the  ruffian  having  returned  from  his  expedition  attempted 
the  supposed  widow  in  the  presence  of  the  supposed  corpse. 
Failing  in  entreaty  and  burly  blandishment  he  resorted  to  force, 
and  Enid's  cries  of  pain  aroused  her  apparently  lifeless  lord 
who  was  only  playing  dead  to  test  her  fealty,  and  he  rushed 
from  his  cooling  board  and  struck  off  his  host's  head.  He  then 
took  her  up  behind  him  on  his  charger  (which  had  discreetly 
called  for  them  at  this  juncture)  and  started  to  return.  Meeting 
Edyrn  whom  he  had  so  lately  conquered  and  converted,  he 
conducted  them  to  the  camp  of  Arthur  who  was  then  march- 
ing to  suppress  the  same  "huge  earl  ofDoorm"  whose  headless 
trunk  Geraint  had  just  left  weltering  in  its  gore.  And  Enid 
was  restored  in  the  confidence  of  her  chivalrous  lord. 

Such  is  the  substance  of  the  story  tediously  told  through 
more  than  thirty  pages  of  deformed  declamation  which  a  liter- 
ary aristocracy  says  in  poetry.  Jack  the  giant  killer  was  tame 
in  comparison  with  Geraint.  But  Geraint  is  immortalized  in 
the  poetry  of  one  who  was  in  law,  if  not  in  fact,  a  poet;  while 
the  Mother  Goose  of  the  Teutonic  and  Indo-European  nursery 
was  a  mere  rhymester.     The  late  Laureate  was  a  factor  in  the 


200  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE.  , 

political  constitution  of  the  government  of  a  country  arrogating 
to  itself  the  proud  distinction  of  being  the  centrifugal  center 
and  source  of  civilization,  from  whence,  if  not  all,  yet  our  most 
luminous  literary  light  radiates.  He  was  armed  with  poetic 
license,  and  mailed  in  legal  laureatic  license;  and  whenever  and 
whatever  and  however  he  deigned  to  write,  the  applause  of 
the  literary  snobs  was  promptly  re-echoed  in  the  applause  of 
the  literary  serfs;  and  a  fawning  constituency  at  Fashion's  fiat 
affects  a  delight  in  that  which  it  is  authoritatively  informed  is 
genius. 

With  all  its  magic,  majesty,  and  honor,  Arthur's  hall  seems 
to  have  been  a  hot-bed  of  vice,  corruption,  and  court  intrigue; 
his  most  trusted  knight  being  the  defiler  of  his  Queen.  But  so 
long  as  he  purposely  blinded  himself  to  their  guilt,  it  was  very 
unknightly  for  his  hangers-on  to  be  dinning  it  in  his  ears. 
But  there  is  nothing  too  preposterous  for  the  infatuated  artist. 

Vivien,  the  harlot,  haunted  this  hall,  plying  its  inmates  as 
she  had  opportunity.  The  King  in  one  of  his  strolls,  trying  to 
walk  off  or  walk  down  his  vexation  at  a  rumor  rife  about  the 
Queen  and  Lancelot,  was  met  by  this  adventuress  who  would 
"fain  have  wrought  upon  his  cloudy  mood,"  but  he  virtuously 
ignored  her  "fluttered  adoration  and  dark  sweet  hints,  had 
gazed  upon  her  blankly  and  gone  by;"  and  had  she  grappled 
with  him,  he  would  have  "left  his  garment  with  her  and  fied 
and  gat  him  out."  Unfortunately  as  well  as  ungentlemanly, 
"the  most  famous  man  of  all  those  times  had  watched,  and 
had  not  held  his  peace."  Sage  Merlin,  the  old  tattler,  told  it 
at  the  Table  Round,  and  "it  made  the  laughter  of  one  afternoon 
that  Vivien  should  attempt  the  blameless  King." 

She  resented  the  ridicule  by  attempting  (and  accomplishing) 
Merlin  himself,  and  they  are  the  immortal  hero  and  heroine  of 
one  of  these  Idyllic  roundels.  Despising  yet  dallying  with  her, 
her  petulant  persistence  made  him  melancholy,  he  left  the 
court,  gained  the  beach,  stepped  into  a  convenient  boat,  "and 
Vivien  followed,  but  he  marked  her  not."  He  was  very  deep- 
ly absorbed,  but  "she  took  the  helm  and  he  the  sail."  The 
romantic  is  too  easily,  and  hence  too  frequently,  overdone. 
If  the  Sage  left  the   court  for  the  wild  woods  of  Broceliande  to 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENtUS.  201 

escape  the  immodest  importunities  of  his  erratic  inamorata,  he 
was  not  very  sage  in  sailing  in  a  craft  with  her  at  the  hehn. 
The  most  famous  man  of  all  those  times,  who  had  built 
Arthur's  hall  for  him  and  was  his  chief  counsellor,  ought  not 
to  have  been  chased  from  the  hall  to  the  wilderness  by  a 
strumpet  who  was  the  butt  of  ridicule  at  the  court. 

The  persistence  of  woman  when  she  sets  her  head  is  well 
portrayed,  and  notwithstanding  its  deformities, — that  nearly 
all  its  occasions  and  situations  are  strained  and  unnatural,  the 
piece  contains  some  poetry  and  philosophy,  but  instead  of 
rounding  out  to  a  conclusion  in  keeping  therewith,  it  merely 
flattens  out.  Vivien  talked  the  sage  almost  to  death,  he  yield- 
ed and  told  her  his  charm,  fell  asleep,  and  she  wrought  his 
ruin  with  woven  paces  and  with  waving  hands,  "and  in  the 
hollow  oak  he  lay  as  dead,  and  lost  to  life  and  use  and  name 
and  fame." 

An  indispensable  requisite  to  poetry  is  harmony,  and  a  phil- 
osophic heroic  is  within  the  rule.  Harmony  in  sound  and  in 
measure  is  no  more  essential  to  music,  than  harmony  in  senti- 
ment and  its  expression  is  to  poetry. 

It  appears  that  two  persons  were  known  to  have  been 
brothers,  were  known  to  have  fought  with  and  killed  each 
other  in  "a  glen,  grey  boulder,  and  black  tarn;"  one  of  them 
was  known  to  have  been  a  king,  yet  their  names  are  unknown. 
Before  Arthur  was  crowned  he  was  roving  the  trackless  realms 
of  Lyonesse,  and  found  the  slain  king's  crown  "of  diamonds, 
one  in  front  and  four  aside."  After  he  was  crowned  he  de- 
voted these  nine  diamonds  to  the  purpose  of  prizes  to  be  tilted 
for  by  his  knights,  one  at  each  annual  tourney  thereafter  for 
nine  years,  expecting  in  that  time  to  learn  thereby  who  was 
the  mightiest,  and  that  the  knights  would  become  so  inured  to 
arms  and  deeds  of  valor  that  they  could  drive  the  heathen. 
In  eight  of  these  annual  tourneys  Lancelot  had  won  the  prize, 
and  expecting  of  course  to  win  them  all,  he  had  hoarded  them 
for  a  present  to  the  Queen,  and  had  kept  his  purpose  a  secret 
even  from  her.  If  the  tilts  proved  anything  it  was  probably 
established  by  this  time  that  he  was  the  mightiest.  The  ninth 
tourney  was  proclaimed  and  the  Queen  was  too  illto  attend, 


202  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

though  the  King  desired  her  to  do  so,  lest  she  "miss  the  great 
deeds  of  Lancelot  and  his  prowess  in  the  lists.  As  Lancelot 
stood  with  the  King  by  the  bedside  of  their  joint  mistress,  she 
"lifted  her  eyes  and  they  dwelt  longingly  on  Lancelot."  He 
misinterpreted  the  language  of  her  languid  look  as  importing  a 
wish  that  he  would  remain  with  her,  and  he  feigned  that  "an 
ancient  wound  was  hardly  whole,  and  let  him  from  the  saddle. 
And  the  King  glanced  first  at  him,  and  then  at  her,  and  went 
his  way."  The  King  was  one  of  those  obliging  husbands 
who  knew  when  he  Was  not  wanted  at  his  Queen's' bedside; 
and  he  was  above  intruding  on  the  privacy  of  the  princely 
lovers,  even  if  one  of  them  was  his  wife.  Left  to  themselves 
the  Queen  and  Lancelot  engaged  in  a  lover's  quarrel,  she  rated 
him  for  his  stupidity  in  misunderstanding  her  languid  look,  and 
urged  him  to  go  to  the  lists  to  prevent  the  scandal  which  his 
staying  with  her  might  provoke.  He  retorted  her  former  defi- 
ance of  public  opinion,  and  reminded  her  that  the  knights  often 
toast  them  as  lovers  while  the  king  listens  smiling.  The  chief 
of  all  the  knights,  the  champion  soldier  of  the  Cross,  the  most 
illustrious  of  the  chivalry  which  is  to  drive  the  heathen,  had  for 
eight  years  maintained  a  lecherous  liaison  with  the  adulterous 
Queen  of  the  most  Christian  King;  had  cuckolded  this  King 
who  is  sung  in  the  same  song  for  superhuman  sagacity  and 
force  of  character,  and  yet  as  conniving  at  his  Queen's  crime. 
If  the  entire  fabric  is  mere  fabrication,  if  fancy  is  unrestrained 
and  the  poet  is  not  limited  by  the  existence  or  non-existence 
of  any  f^ict,  if  he  first  makes  his  matter  and  then  moulds  it  at 
will  into  the  form  of  his  poem  which  has  nothing  else  to 
recommend  it,  it  should  be  at  least  consistent  with  itself  and  its 
pretensions — the  principal  character  it  lionizes  should  not  be 
painted  the  pander  of  his  own  wife's  shame — he  should  not  be 
exhibited  as  a  contemptible  cuckold  cognizant  of  his  own  and 
his  wife's  infamy. 

If  Lancelot  was  the  paramour  of  the  wife  of  the  King  to 
whom  he  owed  and  had  sworn  unswerving  loyalty,  undis- 
sembling  truth,  and  untiring  devotion,  if  he  betrayed  the  most 
sacred  of  all  trusts  to  gratify  his  lust,  is  it  likely  that  his  respect 
for  the  unwritten  code  of  hospitality,  his  regard  for  the  court- 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  20^ 

esy  and  confidence  of  the  Lord  of  Astolat,  or  the  sanctity  of  his 
relations  with  the  Queen,  kept  him  from  the  person  of  Elaine 
when  she  had  snatched  him  from  the  grave,  nursed  him  to  life, 
and  cast  herself  at  his  feet  ?  There  is,  however,  one  point  in 
the  picture  which  is  true  to  nature.  It  is  the  Queen's  jealous 
rage  when  informed  that  Lancelot  fought  in  this  tourney,  wear- 
ing on  his  helmet  "'a  red  sleeve  broidered  with  pearls,"  the 
favor  of  an  unknown  rival  of  her's  for  his  favor. 

In  the  purity  and  proof  of  his  love  for  and  fidelity  to  the 
Queen,  Lancelot  spurned  the  Lily  of  Astolat  and  she  died  of  a 
broken  heart.  Pursuant  to  her  last  wish  her  corpse  was  taken 
to  Arthur's  hall  with  her  last  letter  in  her  lifeless  left  hand. 
The  letter  was  opened  and  read  by  the  King  in  the  presence  of 
the  Queen  and  the  assembled  knights,  and  it  vindicated  Lance- 
lot's faithfulness  to  his  royal  concubine.  In  her  jealous  rage 
the  Qiieen  had  just  thrown  away  (in  a  convenient  river)  Lance- 
lot's princely  present  of  the  nine  diamonds  for  which  he  had 
been  fighting  for  nine  years,  but  on  hearing  the  King  read  the 
Lily's  letter  and  seeing  her  late  rival  consigned  to  the  tomb, 
she  begged  Lancelot's  pardon,  he  forgave  her,  and  the  happy 
King  convulsively  clasped  him  to  his  bosom  exclaiming, 
Lancelot !  my  Lancelot !  So  the  lifeless  Lily  whose  love  he  had 
spurned,  and  the  cuckold  King  whose  honor  he  had  stained, 
restored  relations  between  their  respective  wrongers. 

And  this  is  fashionable,  refined,  aristocratic,  poetic  romance. 
Having  become  inured  to  the  preposterous,  one  may  be  sur- 
prised and  perhaps  disappointed  that  the  poet  does  not  paint 
the  Queen  in  a  tit  of  jealous  rage  with  the  King  for  calling  her 
Lancelot  his  Lancelot,  for  his  froward  familiarity  with  the  per- 
son of  her  courtly  lover  when  he  "approached  him  and  with 
full  affection  flung  one  arm  about  his  neck," — where  her  arms 
belonged.  A  sillier,  shallower,  more  extravagant,  preposterous, 
or  unnatural  story  is  seldom  told ;  perhaps  never  in  more  in- 
harmonious, tedious,  and  turgid  tropes. 

Percivale  having  doffed  the  casque  and  donned  the  cowl, 
was  interviewed  by  an  ancient  inmate  of  the  monastry  near  a 
century  before  Christianity  was  introduced  into  the  Island. 
"While   mere  chronological  slips  may  not  be  a  positive  blemish 


204  EtHlCS   OF   LlTERAtURE. 

to  pure  romance,  yet  it  is  unpardonable  in  romance,  ever  so 
finely  rendered,  to  grovel  in  the  palpably  preposterous. 
Language  cannot  be  set  to  expression  sufficiently  fine  to  justify 
the  absolutely  absurd.  Lullabies  may  be  solemnly  sung  to  the 
senile,  but  they  are  entirely  out  of  place  among  the  classics, 
unless  they  propound  a  moral,  which  should  not  be  buried 
beneath  a  mountain  of  mystic  obscurity. 

Ambrosius  had  seen  "the  world  old  yew-tree  darkening 
half  the  cloisters,"  had  "seen  this  yew-tree  smoke  spring  after 
spring  for  half  a  hundred  years;"  during  all  which  time  he  had 
never  known  "the  world  without,  nor  ever  strayed  beyond 
the  pale."  This  is  an  elaborate,  and  possibly  a  poetic  way  to 
say  that  he  had  been  immured  in  the  monastery  for  fifty  years 
and  was  unacquainted  with  the  world.  Yet  at  a  glance  he 
had  perceived  that  Percivale  was  "one  of  those  who  eat  in 
Arthur's  hall,"  and  he  asked  what  drove  him  from  the  Table 
Round, — if  it  was  "earthly  passion  crost."  Percivale  promptly 
disclaimed  all  such  passion,  and  told  him  it  was  the  sweet  vis- 
ion of  the  holy  grail.  The  aged  monk  who  had  spent  fifty 
years  in  religious  exercises,  meditations,  speculations,  and  dis- 
sipations, asked  the  recent  roisterer  from  the  Table  Round 
what  he  meant  by  the  term  holv  grail,  and  the  answer  was  an 
object  lesson  in  theology.  He  was  informed  that  Arimathean 
Joseph  brought  from  Aromat  to  Glastonbury  the  very  cup  in 
which  Christ  drank  at  the  Last  Supper.  The  monk  seemed  to 
know  all  about  Joseph's  expedition,  his  obtaining  a  land  grant 
from  a  local  Lord,  and  building  "with  wattles  from  the  marsh 
a  little  lonely  church;"  but  was  utterly  ignorant  of  the  miracle- 
working  cup,  the  sight  or  the  touch  of  which  was  the  end  of  all 
ill.  He  who  can  intelligently  imagine  all  this,  and  has  master- 
ed the  art  of  hysterology.  may  be  equipped  for  the  discharge 
of  the  duties  of  the  office  of  Laureate  to  a  literary  snobdom. 

The  novitiate  informed  the  ancient  that  his  sister  (a  nun) 
had  seen  the  cup;  that  her  human  love  being  rudely  blunted 
hwd  glanced  and  slwt  only  to  holy  things;  that  the  court 
scandal  beat  across  the  iron  grating  of  the  cell,  and  she 
"prayed  and  fasted  all  the  more,"  until  "the  sun  shone,  and 
the  wind  blew  thro'  her."     And  these  are  some  of  the  figures 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  20<y 

of  poetical  expression  which  an  overweening  aristocracy  ad- 
ministers to  its  patients  as  poetry.  The  nun's  description  of 
her  vision  of  the  holy  grail,  is,  however,  beautifully  poetic;  but 
it  contains  no  blimtiiig  nor  shooting  nor  glancing  oi\o\Q,  nor 
beating  of  scandal  across  an  iron  grate:  and  it  exhibits  no 
female  form  so  attenuate  that  the  sun  would  shine  or  the  wind 
would  blow  thro'  it. 

Percivale  spoke  of  the  nun's  vision  "to  all  men,"  and  he 
and  many  of  them  fasted  to  the  uttermost,  expectant  of  the 
wonder.  Among  them  was  one  Galahad,  a  beautiful  youth, 
of  doubtful  derivation,  and  of  whom  rumor  reported  he  was  a 
bastard  son  of  Lancelot ;  but  Percivale  doubted  this  because  of 
Lancelot's  singular  continency.  The  nun  decorated  this  boy 
with  a  sword  belt  plaited  of  her  own  hair,  and  containing  a 
representation  of  the  grail  in  a  moon-beam  down  which  it  slid 
to  her  cell  in  her  vision;  and  she  infused  in  him  her  own  pure 
passion.  The  stanza  stating  this  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
in  the  language,  and  were  it  not  for  the  idiom  it  could  not  be 
said  to  have  anything  in  common  with  the  one  next  following  it. 
Percivale  informed  the  antique  of  the  year  of  miracle,  of  Mer- 
lin's transit  from  time  to  eternity  by  inadvertently  sitting  in  a 
chair  of  his  own  make,  and  where  self-destruction  is  mitigated 
if  not  justified  in  Galehad's  attempt  to  follow  Merlin  by  sitting 
in  the  same  chair, — The  Siege  Perilous.  It  should,  or  rather  it 
should  not,  be  remembered  that  Merlin  had  already  met  his 
doom  in  the  hollow  oak  in  the  wild  woods  of  Broceliande, 
when  "overtalked  and  overworn"  he  had  yielded  to  the  licenti- 
ous and  lissom  Vivien, — or,  this  may  be  an  instance  of  the  im- 
pudence of  a  malapert  memory.  The  recollection  of  the  scene  in 
the  hollow  oak  takes  the  color  out  of  this  picture  of  Merlin's 
taking  off.  Galahad  was  disappointed.  He  found  he  could 
not  get  to  Heaven  bv  simply  sitting  down  in  a  chair,  but  it 
caused  "a  cracking  and  a  riving  of  the  roofs,  and  rending,  and 
a  blast,  and  overhead  thunder,  and  *  *  *  a  beam  of  light 
seven  times  more  clear  than  day;"  and  brought  the  grail  down 
this  beam,  and  those  of  the  knights  who  did  not  see  it,  being 
all  of  them  but  Galahad,  sware  a  vow  because  they  had  not 


206  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

seen  it,  to  ride  a  twelve  month  and  a  day  in  quest  of  it,  and 
Galahad,  although  he  had  seen  it,  sware  the  same  vow. 

Early  this  same  day  a  maiden  who  had  been  wronged  by 
some  ruffians,  came  and  complained  to  the  King,  and  he  went 
"to  smoke  the  scandalous  hive  of  those  wild  bees  that  made 
such  honey  in  his  realm."  And  this  is  said  to  be  poetry.  But 
it  is  strange  that  Arthur's  hall  should  be  depopulated  of  its 
knights  by  means -of  their  being  there  swearing  their  vows, 
while  he  was  away  smoking  the  scandalous  hive  of  those 
wild  bees.  He  had  informed  his  imperial  wedding  guests  from 
Rome  when  they  demanded  the  ancient  tribute  that  these  had 
sworn  to  fight  his  wars  and  worship  him  their  king. 

Such  situations  and  suppositions  are  not  only  strained,  un- 
reasonable and  unnatural,  they  are  absurd.  While  it  may  well 
be  regarded  irrelevant  to  object  to  romance  for  the  reason  that 
its  assertions  are  not  true  in  point  of  fact;  yet  there  should  be 
some  measure  of  reasonableness,  naturalness,  and  plausibility 
in  its  situations.  If  they  are  utterly  and  glaringly  foolish,  the 
blemish  is  not  cured,  though  it  may  be  obscured,  by  fanciful 
flights.  If  a  moral  is  intelligibly  pointed  as  is  intended  in  most 
fable,  there  may  be  some  mitigation  if  not  justification  of  the 
wildest  vagaries  supposable;  but  the  moral  should  be  clear,  it 
should  plainly  appear  as  the  objective  point  of  the  poem. 

There  are  few  more  beautiful  descriptions  than  that  of 
Arthur's  hall,  crowned  with  his  statue,  and  lighted  with  win- 
dows blazoning  his  wars,  wlTere  "all  the  light  that  falls  upon 
the  board  streams  through  the  twelve  great  battles  of  our 
King."  But  it  is  disfigured  in  the  conclusion  with  childish 
mysticism  as  to  the  one  blank  window, — thereafter  to  be 
blazoned  with  a  scenic  representation  of  the  results  of  his 
martial  exploits. 

Arthur's  inquiry  on  his  return  of  the  cause  of  the  tumult  he 
found  in  the  hall,  his  learning  of  his  knights  severally  that  they 
had  all  sworn  the  vow,  his  protest  against  and  final  consent  to 
their  going  and  the  consequent  dissolution  of  the  order,  all 
hover  between  the  petulant  and  the  pathetic,  and  result  in 
arranging  a  final  farewell  fete  "when  the  sun  brake  next  from 
underground."     The   description   of  Camelot,    "built   by  old 


OBSCL'RITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  207 

Kings  age  after  age,"  through  the  streets  of  which  the  knights 
departed  in  the  holy  quest  when  "the  next  day  broke  from 
underground,"  of  the  grief  of  "the  Qiieen  who  rode  by  Lance- 
lot," shrieking  "this  madness  has  come  on  us  for  our  sins,"  of 
the  knights  passing  "the  weirdly  sculptured  gate  where 
Arthur's  wars  were  rendered  mystically,"  and  where  they 
"thence  departed,  every  one  his  way,"  is  the  fume  of  a  mad- 
der madness  than  that  which  the  Queen  so  bewailed. 

When  the  knights  departed,  every  one  his  way,  Percivale 
was  very  confident  that  he  "should  light  upon  the  holy  grail," 
but  his  buoyancy  was  brief.  The  Kirtg  was  not  inspirited 
with  the  madness,  and  his  forebodings  recurring  to  Percivale, 
"came  like  a  driving  gloom  across  his  mind,"  and  every  evil 
deed  he  ever  did  awoke  and  cried  "this  quest  is  not  for  thee." 
He  soon  found  himself  "in  a  land  of  sand  and  thorns,"  and  his 
disappointments,  toils,  and  tribulations,  were  perhaps  as  severe 
and  exasperating  as  those  of  the  reader  of  his.  "A  holy  hermit 
in  a  hermitage"  explained  his  reverses  in  a  want  of  true  humil- 
ity, and  admonished  him  that  to  succeed,  to  save  himself,  he 
must  lose  himself  as  Galahad,  who  then  suddenly  appeared  in 
silver  armor,  and  informed  him,  not  only  that  he  had  seen  the 
grail,  but  that  it  was  his  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  of  tire  by 
night.  Galahad  invited  Percivale  to  accompany  him,  promis- 
ing that  at  his  translation  to  the  Spiritual  City,  about  to  occur, 
he  too  should  see  the  grail.  Then  after  Enoch  was  eclipsed 
Percivale  saw  a  vision  which  discounts  the  Dreamer  of  Patmos, 
and  he  then  informed  Ambrosius,  that  of  his. return  to  the 
hermitage,  "no  memory  in  me  lives;"  probably  meaning  that 
he  knew  not  how  he  got  there. 

He  is  hard  indeed  who  cannot  sympathize  with  Percivale  in 
the  terrible  test  to  which  his  constancy  was  put  in  meeting  her 
who  had  been  his  youth's  love,  the  only  one  who  had  ever 
made  his  heart  leap,  although  they  had  "never  kissed  a  kiss," 
nor  "vowed  a  vow."  He  found  her  a  wealthy  widowed  Lady 
of  a  State;  she  cast  her  possessions,  her  power,  and  her  self  at 
his  feet,  and  her  subjects  supplicated  him  to  marry  her  and 
rule  them, — to  become  their  Arthur.  If  she  had  a  Lancelot, 
one  could  easily  understand  his  rejection  of  the  doubtful  honor; 


208  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

but  he  declined  it,  and  his  vow  burning  within  him  he  fled, 
hating  himself  and  the  holy  quest  until  he  met  Galahad,  after 
which  he  "cared  not  for  her,  nor  anything  upon  earth." 
Ambrosius  indicated  the  color  if  not  the  warmth  of  his  blood 
in  reply  to  the  naration  of  this  episode. 

Bors  met  his  kinsman  Lancelot  in  the  quest,  "mad  and 
maddening  what  he  rode,"  shouting  "stay  me  not,  1  have  been 
the  sluggard  and  I  ride  apace,  for  now  there  is  a  lion  in  the 
way."  The  froth  of  this  lunacy  is  followed  by  Bors"  willing- 
ness to  forego  success  in  favor  of  Lancelot;  and  Percivale's  ad- 
venture and  imprisonment  with  a  pagan  tribe,  his  miraculous 
escape,  and  his  vision  of  the  grail;  the  return  of  the  knights 
from  the  quest  to  the  hall,  their  greetings,  the  rehearsal  of  their 
adventures  in  a  medley  of  miracle  and  extravagance  and 
absurdity,  in  which  Gawain  is  made  a  scapegoat  for  the  only 
sensible  sayings  heard  there,  and  received  a  rebuke  from  the 
King  in  a  set  speech  in  which  he  benignantly  blessed  his  be- 
trayer, exalted  his  fury  to  the  fiery  prophecy  of  old  time,  and 
concluded  in  terms  which  Percivale  admitted  he  could  not  un- 
derstand. 

Of  the  readers  of  the  Holy  Grail  candor  requires  a  similar 
admission,  not  confined  to  its  conclusion.  What  is  its  central 
thought  ?  How  is  it  to  promote  the  edification  of  mankind  ? 
Hume  has  regretted  the  strange  liberties  the  poets  take  with 
the  truth.  Is  it  the  most  unwarranted  and  objectionable  liberty 
they  take  ?  When  they  give  vent  to  a  feverish  fancy,  rove  at 
random  amid  objects  bearing  no  resemblance  or  affinity  to  each 
other,  and  many  of  which  are  their  own  chimerical  creations, 
suppose  situations,  characters,  characteristics,  and  purposes, 
preposterous  in  themselves,  and  not  only  needless,  but  inimical 
to  the  plausibility  of  their  alleged  plot,  and  then  present  the 
whole  in  a  distorted,  harsh,  and  labored  expression,  they  may 
indicate  their  genius  and  the  wealth  of  their  resources,  but  they 
certainly  do  not  contribute  materially  to  the  intellectual  devel- 
opment which  should  be  the  object  of  every  stroke  of  their 
pens. 

Literary  coxcombs  may  display  their  superficial  pretensions 
in  affecting  a  profound  respect  for  the  weight  and  the  worth 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  20C) 

and  the  wisdom  of  the  froth  and  the  fume  which  has  neither 
substance  nor  form;  but  if  called  on  for  a  point  in  which  it  is 
really  meritorious,  while  they  may  be  shocked  at  the  audacity 
or  ignorance  of  the  inquiry,  they  can  no  more  than  answer,  it 
is  fashionable,  if  further  pressed  their  refuge  is  in  the  unap- 
proachable dignity  of  the  aristocratic  regime. 

To  replete  his  depleted  ranks,  the  King  called  the  callow  to 
come  and  be  the  knighted,  and  young  Pelleas  set  out  for  Caer- 
lon.     Resting  and   dreaming   in  an  enchanted  grove,    Ettarre 
with  her  train  of  damsels-errant  and  three  knights,  having  lost 
their  way,  casually  came  upon  and  awoke  him,  and  he  became 
their  pilot-star  to  guide  them  to  Arthur's  hall.    Ettarre  discover- 
ed that  he  was  smitten  with  her  beauty,    and  she  begn  to 
zcork   him.     Arrived   at  the  hall  he  was  knighted,  became  at 
once  a  favorite  with  the  King,  Queen,  and  all  except  his  fickle 
tlance,  won  and  gave  her  the  prize,  and  she  spurned  him — not 
the  prize.     The  Qiieen  remonstrated  with  her  for  her  perfidy, 
and  was  rebuked  in  an  insolent  allusion  to  her  own  relations 
with    Lancelot.     The   persistent    Pelleas   pursued   the    erratic 
Ettare  to  her  castle;  the  gate  being  shut  in  his  face  he  perched 
himself  outside  and  beseiged  her.     She  sent  her  three  knights 
to  drive  him  away,  he  downed  them,  and  then  suffered  them 
to  bind    him,  and  they  took  him  inside  a  prisoner,  where  he 
plead  with  his  idol,   she  mocked  him  and  caused  him  to  be 
thrust  out.     He  resumed  the  siege,  maintained  it  a  week,  she 
again  sent  the  three  knights  to  slay  him,  or,  failing  in  that,  to 
give  him   her  order  to  be  again  bound  and  brought  in  a  pris- 
oner.    They    assaulted  him,   Gawain    casually  came  by   and 
offered  to  assist  him,  he  rejected  the  offer,  again  overthrew  the 
three  knights,  again  suffered  them  to  bind  and  take  him  inside 
the  castle  a  captive.     This  time  he  spurned  her,  saying  "1  had 
liefer  you  were  worthy  of  my  love  than  to  be  loved  again  of 
you — farewell;  vex  not  yourself;  ye  will  not  see  me  more." 
He  was  again  thrust  out,  Gawain  met  and    unbound   him  and 
they  left. 

An  idea  struck  Gawain.  He  saw  his  way  to  the  heart  of 
this  damsel-errant  in  making  her  believe  he  had  killed  her 
troublesome  lover.     He  borrowed  Pelleas'  horse,  and  his  arms, 


2IO  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

except  the  prize  sword  he  won  when  he  won  the  golden  circ- 
let for  Ettarre,  promised  on  the  honor  of  the  Table  Round  to 
return  to  her  castle  and  woo  and  win  the  damsel-errant  for 
him,  to  magnify  him  to  her  incessantly  for  three  days.  There 
is  a  difficulty  here.  How  Pelleas  was  to  profit  by  this  pro- 
ceeding is  not  apparent.  Gawain  was  to  gain  access  to  Ettarre 
only  by  convincing  her  that  he  had  killed  him,  of  which  fact 
the  borrowed  horse  and  armor  was  to  be  the  proof.  Pelleas 
roamed  aimlessly  around  for  three  days,  on  the  third  night  he 
gave  way  to  his  impulses  and  went  to  the  castle,  found  the 
entrance  open  and  unguarded,  entered,  investigated,  found  his 
emissary  in  bed  with  his  idol,  shrunk  back  in  horror,  with- 
drew, hesitated,  returned  to  kill  his  betrayers,  faltered,  with- 
drew, hesitated,  returned  again  to  slay  them,  faltered,  "and 
groaning  laid  the  naked  sword  athwart  their  naked  throats, 
and  there  left  it,  and  them  sleeping;  and  she  lay,  the  circlet  of 
the  tourney  round  her  brow,  and  the  sword  of  the  tourney 
across  her  throat."  He  left  her  finally  and  forever,  cursing  the 
perfidy  of  mankind.  She  awoke  to  find  the  prize  sword  of 
her  rejected  lover  across  her  throat,  railed  on  her  foul  bed- 
fellow for  having  lied  about  the  killing  of  Pelleas  who  might 
have  slain  them  both  in  their  sin  and  shame,  and  her  "fickle 
fancy  turned  to  Pelleas  as  the  one  true  knight  on  earth,"  too 
late  however,  "and  through  her  love,  her  life  wasted  and 
pined,  desiring  him  in  vain."  Another  difficulty  appears. 
The  entrance  to  the  castle  and  to  Ettarre's  bed-chamber  being 
left  open  and  unguarded  at  so  critical  a  moment.  Pelleas  came 
to  the  cloister  where  Percivale  was  cowled,  slept,  and  dreamed 
that  Gawain  burned  Arthur's  hall,  awoke  to  grasp  the  form  of 
some  one  near,  and  was  surprised  to  see  Percivale  who  further 
disabused  his  mind  of  the  delusion  that  honor  dwelt  among 
men,  with  one  shining  exception  in  Arthur. 

Crazed  with  disappointment  and  disgust  he  rushed  from 
the  cloister,  mounted  his  charger,  rode  down  and  trampled  a 
crippled  medicant,  met  and  fought  with  and  was  over  thrown 
by  Lancelot,  followed  him  to  Arthur's  hall,  gave  him  and  the 
Queen  some  significant  sauce,  "she  quailed;  and  he,  hissing  'I 
have  no  sword,'  sprang  from  the  door  into  the  dark.     The 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  2  I  I 

Queen  looked  hard  upon  her  lover,  he  on  her;  and  each  fore- 
saw the  dolorous  day  to  be;  and  all  talk  died,  as  in  a  grove  all 
song  beneath  the  shadow  of  some  bird  of  prey ;  then  a  long 
silence  came  upon  the  hall,  and  Modred  thought  'the  time  is 
hard  at  hand.'  " 

All  this  to  introduce  the  arch-fiend  Modred  upon  the  scene. 
Pelleas  and  Ettarre  are  heard  of  no  more,  and  their  adventure 
has  no  connection  with  or  relation  to  anything  like  a  general 
scheme  (if  there  is  such  a  thing)  of  the  story.  There  is  but 
one  situation  in  this  piece  which  is  consistent  with  any  other, 
and  that  is  that  when  Pelleas  hissed  that  he  had  no  sword,  he 
had  lent  one  to  Gawain,  and  laid  the  other  athwart  the  naked 
throats  of  his  betrayers,  and  even  this  is  inconsistent  with  his 
encounter  with  Lancelot  who  was  too  chivalrous  to  fight  an 
unarmed  knight.  There  is  but  one  way  to  read  such  poetry 
with  satisfaction, — that  is  to  read  it  with  one's  eyes  closed. 

In  the  last  Tournament  a  new  character  is  introduced,  Tris- 
tram, whose  nest-hiding  with  Isolt  is  something  in  the  nature 
of  a  pocket  edition  of  Lancelot's  liaison  with  the  Qtieen.  Tris- 
tram was  engaged  in  a  childish  controversy  with  Dagonet,  the 
King's  fool,  in  which  there  is  a  futile  attempt  to  philosophize 
in  terms  of  buffoonery.  In  an  apparent  digression  it  appears 
that  Lancelot  and  the  King  had  rescued  a  child  from  an  eagle's 
nest,  that  it  wore  a  necklace  of  rubies,  that  they  gave  the  child 
to  the  Queen  who  received  it  coldly  at  first,  that  she  grew  to 
love  it,  named  it  Nestling,  reared  it,  it  died,  and  the  Queen 
gave  the  rubies  to  the  King  to  be  used  as  a  tourney  prize.  And 
the  tourney  being  immediately  proclaimed  implies  that  the 
prize  occasioned  it,  as  the  factitious  facts  seems  to  have  occas- 
ioned the  piece.  On  receiving  the  rubies  the  King  evinced 
some  surprise  that  she  had  never  worn  the  diamonds  presented 
her  by  Lancelot,  she  soothed  him  with  a  white  lie  about  losing 
them,  and  predicted  rosier  luck  for  the  rubies  because  they 
came  from  the  neck  of  an  innocent  babe  instead  of  the  skeleton 
of  a  royal  red-handed  fratricide.  A  churl  seems  to  have  been 
mutilated  by  some  ruffians  defying  the  King's  authority,  he 
ordered  him  to  be  royally  entertained  until  healed,  organized 
an  expedition  of  his  new  knights  against  the  outlaws,  and  left 


212  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

Lancelot  to  preside  at  the  hall  and  arbitrate  the  ensuing  tourna- 
ment in  his  absence,  saying  that  he  would  not  care  to  tilt 
merely  to  win  and  return  the  rubies  to  the  Queen ;  as  though 
it  was  foregone  that  if  he  should  tilt  he  would  win,  and  if  he 
should  win  he  would  give  the  prize  to  the  Queen.  Tristram 
entered  and  cleared  the  lists,  and  Lancelot  gave  him  the  prize. 
After  some  general  murmuring  about  the  general  degeneracy 
of  the  times  the  assembly  adjourned  to  the  evening  banquet, 
proposing  by  their  splendor  and  vivacity  there  to  comfort  the 
eyes  of  the  Qjieen  and  Lancelot.  The  King  could  kill  time  as 
best  he  might  in  the  bivouac.  The  next  morning  Tristram 
met  Dagonet  and  they  renewed  their  philosophic  farce,  in 
which  the  fool  showed  that  Arthur  was  himself  a  fool,  the 
King  of  fools,  especially  for  expecting  to  make  men  of  beasts 
by  means  of  the  vain  vows  of  the  order  of  the  Table  Round. 

The  remainder  of  the  rhapsody  relates  to  an  amour  of  Tris- 
tram and  his  back-woods  mistress  Isolt,  the  wife  of  Mark,  the 
cuckold  King  of  Tintagil  in  Lyonesse.  He  presented  her  the 
rubies  he  had  just  won,  demanded  and  was  served  with  meat 
and  wine,  and  promised  to  love  her  "to  the  death,  and  out 
beyond  into  the  dream  to  come."  Having  feasted  and  being 
in  the  act  of  embracing  her,  the  injured  and  irate  husband  sud- 
denly shrieked  "Mark's  way,  and  clove  him  through  the  brain." 
The  heathen  King  of  the  forest  showed  a  higher  appreciation 
of  his  domestic  duties,  than  his  illustrious  Christian  compeer  of 
the  Table  Round. 

But  as  usual  with  these  pieces,  the  last  tournament  flattens 
out,  collapses,  expires  from  sheer  exhaustion.  The  scene  sud- 
denly shifts  from  Mark's  den  to  Arthur's  hall,  where,  when  the 
King  returned  he  found  his  truant  Qtieen  had  fled  with  his 
chief  knight,  and  "about  his  feet  a  voice  clung  sobbing  till  he 
questioned  it,  'what  art  thou  Y  and  the  voice  about  his  feet 
sent  up  an  answer  sobbing.  '1  am  thy  fool,  and  I  shall  never 
make  thee  smile  again.'  "  The  piece  is  replete  with  incident 
and  episode  among  or  between  which  there  is  no  natural  or 
necessary  connection,  relation,  or  affinity.  There  are  some 
beautifully  poetic  expressions,  and  occasional  wise  saws  in 
philosophy,  of  which  an  instance  is  Tristram's  estimate  of  the 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  21) 

efficacy  of  the  oaths  of  love  and  knighthood.  "The  vow  that 
binds  too  strictly  snaps  itself — my  knighthood  taught  me  this 
— ay,  being  snapt  we  run  more  counter  to  the  soul  thereof 
than  we  had  never  sworn." 

The  Queen  fled  the  Court, — took  sanctuary  in  a  convent  at 
Almesbury  and  sat  in  her  cell  with  "a  little  maid,  a  novice." 
Modred  had  sought  to  ruin  the  King,  "and  all  his  aims  were 
sharpened  by  a  strong  hate  for  Lancelot."  He  had  hounded 
the  Queen  with  his  "narrow  foxy  f^ice,  heart-hiding  smile,  and 
grey  persistent  eye;"  had  couched  in  tall  grass  growing  upon 
the  garden  wall,  and  the  very  one  he  hoped  to  detect  in  devil- 
ment had  caught  him  spying,  and  thrown  him  from  his  perch 
into  the  dirt.  "Ever  after  the  small  violence  rankled  in  him  and 
ruffled  all  his  heart,  as  the  sharp  wind  that  ruffles  all  day  long 
a  bitter  little  pool  about  a  stone  on  the  bare  coast."  Contem- 
plate this  comparison, — is  it  not  more  puerile  than  poetical  or 
pertinent  ?  Lancelot  related  this  escapade  to  the  Queen  who 
at  first  rather  enjoyed  it,  but  on  reflection  she  sighed,  foresee- 
ing that  the  "subtle  beast  would  track  her  guilt  until  he  found 
and  hers  would  be  forevermore  a  name  of  scorn."  From  what 
had  gone  before  it  would  seem  that  her  guilt  was  already 
found,  that  hers  was  already  become  a  name  of  scorn.  Lance- 
lot had  told  her  that  the  knights  often  toast  them  as  lovers 
while  the  King  listens  smiling;  Vivien  had  encountered  the 
King  in  a  stroll  perplexed  with  some  rumor  rife  about  the 
Queen  and  Lancelot,  "and  would  fain  have  wrought  upon  his 
cloudy  mood;"  Ettarre,  from  a  remote  province  (having  been 
lost  on  her  way  to  the  hall)  had  openly  reproached  the  Queen 
with  her  relations  with  Lancelot ;  the  Father  of  the  Lily  maid 
of  Astolat  had  told  her,  "Daughter  I  know  not  what  you  call 
the  highest ;  but  this  1  know,  for  all  the  people  know  it.  He 
loves  the  Queen,  and  in  open  shame;  and  she  returns  his  love 
in  open  shame;"  and  if  notorious  prostitution  means  a  name  of 
scorn,  -she  had  already  earned  and  acquired  it,  and  her  appre- 
hensions come  rather  late.  But  her  shame  became  her  night- 
mare, and  she  resolved  to  break  with  Lancelot.  For  this  pur- 
pose they  took  the  superfluous  and  silly  precaution  to  steal  an 
interview  for  their  "madness  of  farewells"  in  her  bed-chamber, 


2i4  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

when  the  King  was  away ;  as  though  he  had  not  been  for 
years  conniving  at  their  treasonable  trysts ;  as  though  he  had 
not  "glanced  first  at  him,  and  then  at  her,  and  gone  his  way;" 
as  though  he  had  not  "listened  smiling"  while  the  knights 
toasted  them  as  lovers.  "And  Modred  brought  his  creatures 
to  the  basement  of  the  tower  for  testimony,"  to  prove  the  best 
authenticated  and  most  widely  known  fact  in  the  history  of 
the  subject  matter  of  the  Idylls.  But  they  were  finally  trapped 
and  exposed  by  Modred,  in  that  which  every  one  knew  they 
were  doing,  and  had  come  to  regard  a  part  of  the  policy  of  the 
Powers  that  be;  and  Lancelot's  grand  finale  is  to  hurl  the  in- 
sidious spy  headlong  to  the  earth.  The  Queen  and  Lancelot 
left  the  hall  and  went  together  to  "the  divided  way,  there 
kissed,  and  parted  weeping;  for  he  past,  love  loyal  to  the  least 
wish  of  the  Queen,  back  to  his  own  land ;  but  she  to  Almes- 
bury." 

From  this  point  to  its  close  Guinevere  is  the  prettiest  and 
most  pathetic  poem  I  know  of.  If  such  qualities  should  be  re- 
garded an  incongruous  combination,  the  intelligent  skeptic 
should  thoughtfully  read  it.  Let  him  behold  the  garrulous  lit- 
tle babbler  with  her  innocent  prattle  piercing  the  prurient  Queen 
to  the  heart;  behold  the  Queen  writhing  in  the  agony  of  a 
burning  sense  of  her  supremacy  and  shame,  artlessly  intensifi- 
ed by  the  child,  who,  "like  many  another  babbler  hurt  whom 
she  would  soothe;"  behold  the  Queen  finally  irritated  to  a  pet- 
ty resentment  against  the  innocence  which  unconsciously  flays 
her  alive  with, — "this  is  all  woman's  grief,  that  she  is  woman, 
whose  disloyal  life  hath  wrought  confusion  at  the  Table 
Round;" — if  not  convinced  of  the  beauty,  power,  and  pathos 
of  the  part  mentioned,  he  should  attend  the  King  in  his  last 
interview  with  her  who  should  have  blest,  but  had  cursed  his 
life,  her  own,  and  their  common  country.  Eulogy  were  idle, 
description  futile.  Is  it  possible  that  the' fabricator  of  the  false, 
flimsy,  preposterous  positions ;  the  supposer  of  the  absurd  situ- 
ations and  sentiments,  which  blur  the  beauty  of  a  charming 
romance,  also  distilled  the  quintessence  offender  invective  lov- 
ing reproach,  and  crushing  hope,  which  Arthur  showered  on 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  215 

Guinevere,  standing  over  the  prostrate  prostitute  in  her  cell  at 
Aimesbury  ? 

There  is  an  awful  grandeur  in  some  of  the  sentiment  per- 
vading the  Passing  of  Arthur,  notably  in  the  expressions  attri- 
buted to  the  expiring  (or  passing)  monarch.  But  it  is  belittled 
with  incongruity  and  frivolty.  The  last  battle  was  fought  in 
"the  trackless  realms  of  Lyonesse,"  which,  according  to  the 
Idylls  was  a  region  of  unregenerate  heathenism.  Yet  when 
the  opposing  armies  had  utterly  exterminated  each  other,  so 
that  none  were  left  to  tell  the  tale  but  the  traitor  Modred  of  the 
one  side,  and  Arthur  and  bold  Bedivere  of  the  other,  Arthur 
attacked  Modred,  despatched  him,  received  a  fatal  wound,  and 
was  borne  by  Bedivere  "to  a  chapel  nigh  the  field,  a  broken 
chancel  with  a  broken  cross;"  a  strange  structure  indeed  for 
such  a  place.  When  Arthur  realized  his  time  was  come,  there 
remained  an  indispensable  duty  to  be  done;  the  culmination  of 
a  Kingly  career,  its  crowning  consummation,  to  throw  away  a 
sword  in  the  mere.  Bold  Bedivere,  the  King's  last  living  friend, 
was  commissioned  to  commit  Excalibur  to  the  wave.  Falter- 
ingly  faithful,  his  cupidity  prevented  the  performance  of  this 
penultimate  precept  of  his  liege,  until  the  third  time  he  was  ' 
driven  to  do  it,  and  then  the  expiring  (or  passing)  monarch 
whom  he  had  just  borne  to  the  broken  chancel,  threatened  to 
rise  and  slay  him  with  his  hands  should  he  return  again  with- 
out having  done  it. 

The  silly  things  they  said  to  each  other  while  Arthur  kept  • 
Bedivere  going  to  and  fro  between  the  chapel  and  the  mere, 
recall  the  rhapsody  of  the  Giant's  muse; — "Fe,  fo,  fi,  fum;  I 
smell  the  flesh  of  an  Englishmun;  Dead  or  alive  I  must  have 
some."  With  slight  syntactical  change,  this  triplet  might 
pass  for  an  extract  from  the  Idylls.  Such  is  the  twaddle  with 
which  a  learned  literary  lord  regales  a  reading,  if  not  a  think- 
ing world.  And  if  we  expect  to  have  any  credit  with  the  elite, 
we  must  not  only  admit,  we  must  insist  that  it  is  immense. 

In  striking  contrast  with  the  aimless  delirium  of  the  Idylls 
are  some  of  the  other  propositions  of  their  author.  Notwith- 
standing its  labored  expression,  I  doubt  that  there  ever  was  a 
truer  or  more  beautiful  picture  of  constancy,  integrity,  and  virtue 


2l6  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

in  humble  life  than  in  the  story  of  Enoch  Arden.  Its  situations 
and  sentiment  are  sufficiently  supposable,  natural,  and  har- 
monious ;  yet  they  are  as  striking  as  those  with  which  the 
Idylls  are  so  foully  blemished.  To  get  its  real  purport  one  can 
well  afford  the  labor  imposed  by  its  idiomatic  eccentricities; 
although  he  will  be  impressed  with  the  manifest  impropriety 
of  obscuring  the  substance  with  oddity  in  expression.  The 
pathetic  power  of  the  poet  is  attested  in  that  the  perusal  of 
Enoch  Arden  has  moistened  more  eyes  and  sweetly  saddened 
more  hearts  than  anything  else  in  the  language. 

In  the  one  hundred  and  thirty-one  successive  sobs  for  the 
death  of  his  friend,  the  Laureate  reached  the  very  zenith  of 
poetic  supremacy,  and  dignified  his  main  subject  in  the  choice 
of  language.  There  is  a  tedious  monotony  in  the  reiterations 
of  gloomy  glamour  in  which  the  deathly  dirge  is  moaned,  and 
a  manifest,  and  manifestly  futile,  effort  to  relieve  the  irksome 
absence  of  variety  with  interspersion  of  philosophic  platitude. 
He  has  attempted  to  philosophize  as  well  as  poetize;  and  the 
throes  are  so  convulsive  and  hysterical;  the  allusion  to  and 
treatment  of  them  are  so  vague  and  obscure,  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  perceive  what  doctrine  he  meant  to  inculcate.  There 
seems  to  be  but  one  connecting  idea  by  which  the  one  hund- 
red and  thirty-one  stanzas  or  any  number  of  them  may  be  said 
to  be  connected  with,  or  related  to  each  other;  that  is  the  cor- 
roding grief  of  their  writer.  That  he  had,  or  imagined  he  had, 
something  to  teach  in  the  fugitive  philosophy,  is  argued  in 
that  he  would  not  have  re-stated  his  mere  sorrow  so  often,  and 
in  so  many  forms  so  little  variant  from  each  other,  in  one  and 
the  same  poem.  The  sorrow  that  bowed  and  buoyed  him 
murmurs  in  one  unbroken  stream  of  dulcet  despair  through  the 
entire  poem ;  but  the  philosophy  in  which  he  meant  to  mani- 
fest his  intellectual  power  is  fragmentary,  intermittent,  and  its 
relevancy  in  most  instances  and  connections  is  not  apparent. 
It  appears  however  to  be  summed  up  in  the  latter  half  of  the 
last  period  of  the  poem,  which  period  contains  eleven  verses  of 
four  lines  each. 

"A  soul  shall  draw  from  out  the  vast 
And  strike  his  being  into  bounds, 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  2  1  7 

And,  moved  thro'  life  of  lower  phase, 
Result  in  man,  be  born  and  think, 
And  act  and  love,  a  closer  link 
Betwixt  us  and  the  crowning  race 
Of  those  that,  eye  to  eye,  shall  look 
On  knowledge;  under  whose  command 
Is  Earth  and  Earth's  and  m  their  hand 
Is  Nature  like  an  open  book; 
No  longer  half  akin  to  brute, 
For  all  we  thought  and  loved  and  did 
And  hoped,  and  suffered,  is  but  seed 
Of  what  in  them  is  flower  and  fruit; 
Whereof  the  man  that  with  me  trod 
This  planet,  was  a  noble  type 
Appearing  ere  the  times  were  ripe, 
That  friend  of  mine  who  lives  in  God, 
That  God,  which  ever  lives  and  loves, 
One  God,  one  law,  one  element. 
And  one  far  of!  divine  event. 
To  which  the  whole  creation  moves." 

This  latter  half  of  the  last  period  of  the  poem,  summarizes 
its  philosophy  in  what  appears  to  be  a  universal  unitarianism, 
or  perhaps  more  properly  a  pantheism ;  and  by  it  the  piece 
rounds  out  to  a  majestic  finish,  poetically.  But  if  we  suppose 
"one  God,  one  law,  one  element,  and  one  far  off  divine  event, 
to  which  the  whole  creation  moves,"  it  is  difficult  to  conceive 
how  a  soul  could  "draw  from  out  the  vast  and  strike  its  being 
into  bounds,  and  moved  through  life  of  lower  phase,  result  in 
man,  be  born  and  think,  and  act  and  love,  a  closer  link, 
betwixt  us  and  the  crowning  race  that,  eye  to  eye,  shall  look 
on  knowledge," 

I  know  of  but  one  reliable  test  of  the  validity  of  purely  spec- 
ulative discussion, — and  that  is  logic.  Logically,  the  propos- 
ition is  self-destructive,  The  words  "divine  event"  are  ruin- 
ous to  it.  They  posit  a  period  to  progress,  its  final  consum- 
mation, which  is  utterly  impossible  of  thought.  But  progress 
must  terminate  if  "the  whole  creation  moves"  to  "one  far  off 
divine  event."  They  imply  that  the  whole  creation  moves  to 
one  far  off  result,  necessarily  the  termination  of  its  movement, 
which  cannot  be  thought.     These  majestic  moans  mean  more 


2l8  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

than  the  mere  grief  of  their  writer,  or  the  fulsome  adulation  of 
his  departed  friend.  One  of  their  patent  purposes  is  a 
grandiose  exhibition  of  their  writer's  mastery  of  language. 
Another  is,  or  seems  to  be,  to  give  vent  to  occasional  philo- 
sophic afflatus. 

The  fifty-fifth  and  fifty-sixth  stanzas  allude  to  an  alleged 
duality  of  God  and  Nature,  which  does  not  harmonize  very 
well  with  the  one  God,  one  Law,  and  one  element.  They 
also  allude  to  an  alleged  antagonism  between  God  and  Nature ; 
to  an  apparent  indifference  of  Nature  for  individuals  and  solici- 
tude for  Types;  to  Nature's  real  indifference  for  Types;  they 
attribute  the  human  tendency  to  desire  eternal  existence,  to 
"What  we  have  the  likest  God  within  the  soul;"  they  find 
cause  for  the  shaking  of  faith  in  the  observable  fact  that  of  fifty 
seeds  Nature  "often  brings  but  one  to  bear;"  and  after  declar- 
ing that  the  necessary  deduction  from  all  this  is,  that  life  is  "a 
monster  then,  a  dream,  a  discord,"  they  attempt  to  pin  a  hope- 
less faith  to  that  which  is  "behind  the  veil,  behind  the  veil." 
The  necessary  deduction  from  all  observable  data  forbids  hope 
beyond  earthly  existence;  but  hope  is  inspired  again  by  a  blind 
and  unintelligible  faith  in  the  inscrutable  cause  of  the  tendency 
to  desire  the  future  existence.  The  argument  then  is,  that  all 
observable  phenomena  imply  the  mortality  of  the  soul;  that 
man  shall  "be  blown  about  the  desert  dust,  or  sealed  within 
the  iron  hills,"  and  when  in  his  longing  he  cries  for  a  "voice 
to  soothe  and  bless,"  the  answer  is  "behind  the  veil,  behind 
the  veil."  And  even  the  longing  itself  is  attributed  to  that  in 
man  which  is  "the  likest  God;"  in  other  words  a  kind  of  godly 
selfishness. 

This  seems  very*  much  like  trying  to  reason  out  and  estab- 
lish the  validity  of  a  faith,  after  having  conceded  that  every 
conceivable  cause  for  its  existence  has  failed;  except  it  be  per- 
haps, the  innate  longing  for  the  fruition  of  the  hope.  The  be- 
lief then  in  the  future  existence  is  based  entirely  upon  "the 
wish,  that  of  the  living  whole  no  life  may  fail  beyond  the 
grave,"  being  derived  "from  what  we  have  the  likest  God 
within  the  soul."  The  pointer  quality  in  which  we  most 
resemble  our  Maker,  then,  is  our  selfishness. 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  219 

The  poetic  philosopher  says  that,  considering  Nature's 
secret  meaning  in  her  deeds,  he  falters  where  he  firmly  trod 
"Upon  the  great  world's  altar  stairs  that  slope  through  dark- 
ness up  to  God."  The  expression  is  beautifully  poetic, — indeed 
it  is  grand,  sublime.  But  one  must  hurry  past  and  not  stop  to 
consider  it.  If  he  trod  firmly  before  considering  the  secret 
meaning  of  Nature  in  her  deeds,  and  after  could  only  "stretch 
lame  hands  of  faith  and  grope,  and  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and 
call,  to  what  he  feels  is  Lord  of  all,  and  faintly  trust  the  larger 
hope,'"  it  would  seem  that  his  curiosity  had  gotten  him  into 
trouble.  Bv  his  investigations  he  had  learned  that  which  he 
did  not  want  to  know.  To  have  been  content  in  ignorance 
then  were  the  prime  wisdom.  Still  the  universal  propensity 
to  speculate  and  investigate  remains,  and  is  developed  in  and 
manifested  most  markedly  by  those  whose  doctrines  would 
seem  to  favor  its  suppression  or  restraint,  as  being  in  itself  sub- 
versive of  human  weal. 

The  Laureate's  purpose  seems  to  have  been  to  make  a  noise 
in  the  world,  to  attract  attention;  and  owing  to  his  personal 
prestige  and  the  contemptible  servility  of  the  literary  masses; 
as  much  as,  perhaps  more  than,  the  undeniable  fact  that  he 
has  written  some  of  the  finest  poetry  known,  he  has  been  un- 
deservedly successful.  It  matters  not  how  unpretentious  one 
may.  be  in  his  general  deportment,  if  he  is  able  to  give  to  Liter- 
ature an  Enoch  Arden  or  a  Locksley  Hall, — that  he  inflicts  on  it 
an  In  Memoriam  or  an  Idylls  Of  The  King,  is  due  to  his  over- 
weening personal  importance  in  Literature.  One  capable  of 
producing  either  of  the  former  two  poems,  would  certainly 
know  that  neither  of  the  latter  two  had  much  if  anything  to 
recommend  it,  besides  the  name  of  its  writer. 


CHAPTER   X. 

OBSCURITY    AND    PROFUSION    AS    INDICATIONS    OF   GENIUS. 

Plain  English  Amply  Sufficient  Medium  for  Expression  of  all  ideas — Impertin- 
ency  of  Apologetics — Bishop  Blougram's  Apology  a  Learned  Vagary^— Its 
Merit  with  Readers  is  the  Prestige  of  its  Author — Aristocratic  Blackguard- 
ism— Worldly  Priest-craft — Money  Makes  the  Spiritual  Mare  Go — The 
Skeptic's  Ideal  too  lofty  to  be  realized — Ocean  Voyage  of  a  Life — Faith  Ab- 
solute Fixed  and  Final  an  Impossibility — ^Religion  Based  in  Selfishness — • 
Faith  Valid  Because  it  Must  be  So — Cowardice  and  Dissimulation  of  Apol- 
ogetics— Believer  Under  Surveillance  of  the  World  in  his  Service  ot  the 
Lord — Belief  not  Within  Personal  Control — Creation  Declares  Instead  of 
Conceals  the  Creator. 

The  names  of  some  writers  are  become  household  words 
among  persons  who  vie  with  each  other  in  extolling  whatever 
bears  the  impress  of  the  seal  of  aristocratic  approval, — no  mat- 
ter what  it  may  be,  nor  whether  it  is  understood,  except  that 
the  less  it  is  understood  the  more  extravagantly  it  is  likely  to 
be  extolled.  The  accidental  pet  of  literary  fashion  may  be  a 
master  of  Greek,  and  of  Sanskrit,  and  of  Semitic  hieroglyph, 
and  he  may  be  disturbed  with  a  vague  and  indefinable  uneasi- 
ness which  he  imagines  is  some  kind  of  inspiration.  If  he  puts 
anything,  or  even  a  quantity  of  nothing  upon  paper,  the  ap- 
proval of  the  great  will  set  the  teeth  of  the  gaping,  grovelling 
imitators  on  edge,  to  display  their  acumen — affecting  an  ap- 
preciative amazement  at  the  power  of  the  prodigy  who  pro- 
ceeds under  the  sanction  of  princely  patronage.  He  may,  or 
he  may  not,  have  an  idea ;  it  irks  him  not.  if  he  has,  it  is  the 
boast  of  the  English  language  that  it  can  supply  him  the  most 
superb  garb  in  which  to  clothe  it,  and  the  most  explicit  medium 
in  which  to  express  it.  Should  it  be  one  by  the  possession  of 
which  mankind  would  be  benefited,  it  were  his  plain  duty  to 
express  it,  otherwise,  it  were  his  plain  duty  to  suppress  it. 
If  it  deserves  to  be  suppressed,  it  were  needless  to  write  a 
book  in  which  to  do  so ;  while  if  it  deserves  expression,  some 
writing  may  be  requisite.  1  recall  some  writings  which  really 
appear  to  have  been  written  to  suppress  their  author's  idea,  in 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  22  1 

which  they  are  supremely  successful,  as  no  intelligible  idea  is 
deducible  therefrom.  The  duty  to  express  includes  the  duty 
to  express  clearly,  intelligibly,  and  comprehensibly;  less  than 
which  cannot  fairly  be  called  expression,  but  rather  suppres- 
sion, concealment,  or  disguise.  That  which  cannot  be  clearly, 
intelligibly,  and  comprehensibly  expressed  in  the  English  lang- 
uage, is  not  an  idea.  He  who  has  an  idea  deserving  expres- 
sion, and  suppresses,  conceals,  or  disguises  it  in  a  tedious 
tangle  of  scholarly  obscurity,  offends  in  exact  ratio  with  the  art 
and  ingenuity  manifest  in  his  periphrase.  He  places  Literature 
under  no  legitimate  debt  of  gratitude  by  exhibiting  his  skill  at 
confusion.  The  world  owes  him  nothing  for  the  privilege  to 
guess  at  the  meaning  of  his  learned  enigma,  or  artistic  ab- 
strusity. 

Apologetics  is  an  im pertinency — from  the  concession  it  im- 
pliedly makes  of  the  plausibility  of  the  opposites  of  its  own 
propositions.  If  such  opposites  have  no  plausibility  there  can 
be  no  occasion  for  the  argument.  Apologetics  strengthens  its 
imaginary  opponent  by  useless,  senseless,  but  necessarily  im- 
plied admissions;  or  worse,  it  weakens  itself  thereby  in  creat- 
ing or  supposing  the  occasion  for  argument;  and  in  addition  to 
the  disadvantage  it  thus  gratuitously  incurs,  it  generally  pro- 
ceeds so  irregularly  and  illogically  that  its  controversies  become 
learned  squabbles,  elucidating  nothing,  and  settling  less;  of 
which  result  Bishop  Blougram's  Apology  is  an  illustrious 
example. 

I  have  carefully  studied  that  learned  vagary,  and  if  it  means 
anything,  1  think  I  have  discerned  it;  but  before  succeeding  or 
imagining  1  had  succeeded,  had  it  not  been  for  the  popularity 
and  prestige  of  its  writer,  I  would  have  dismissed  it  in  disgust, 
as  an  unmeaning  jumble  of  words.  It  were  hazardous  to  so 
declare  of  the  masterpiece  of  a  writer  whose  name  gilds  the 
back  of  a  volume  in  nearly  every  library  of  literary  pretensions 
within  the  range  of  the  English  language;  so  instead  of  making 
the  assertion,  I  proceed  to  inquire  if  it  would  be  justified. 

In  view  of  the  sanctity  of  its  subject,  the  divine  dignity  of 
its  chief  character,  and  the  aristocratic  pretensions  of  its  writer, 
a  sensitive  sense  of  propriety  may  be  shocked  at  the  frivolous 


222  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

irreverence  with  which  such  expressions  as  twiddlings,  Giga- 
dibs,  body  gets  its  sop,  the  deuce  knows  zvhat,  try  the  cooler  jug, 
and  nigh  onto  the  imminent  sneeze,  are  intermingled  with  such 
as  The  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life,  What thinii ye  of  Christ? 
■^nd  there's  one  great  form  of  Christian  faith.  Still  the  cir- 
cumstances supposed  to  have  attended  their  supposed  utter- 
ance, are  eminently  in  keeping  with  the  maudlin  mix,  and  the 
frequency  of  the  recurrence  to  the  wine,  the  glass,  the  jug,  and 
the  bald-headed  decanter,  might  suggest  even   the  hiccough. 

A  magazine  correspondent  was  wined  and  dined  by  His 
Holiness,  and  the  claret  seems  to  have  been  more  potent  to 
loosen  the  Bishop's  tongue,  than  to  burnish  his  wit.  He  in- 
sisted that  his  guest  despised  him,  but  was  willing  to  divert 
the  disgust  from  himself  to  his  priestly  profession,  and  finally 
that  it  might  be  assuaged  to  a  respectful  deprecation  of  the 
ecclesiastical  dignity,  as  an  object  unworthy  a  laudable  and 
lofty  ambition.  An  analysis  of  this  position  shows  the  ruin- 
ous disadvantage  at  which  the  poet  places  the  Priest  in  the  be- 
ginning of  an  argument  which  is  had  solely  that  he  may 
triumph. 

Argument  necessarily  implies  discernment  in  the  auditor 
addressed,  and  to  insist  that  he  despises  a  profession  is  to  assert 
the  plausibility  of  his  reason  lor  so  doing.  To  say  that  he  does 
so  without  reason,  is  to  denounce  him  devoid  of  discernment, 
impervious  to  reason,  and  hence  unworthy  the  argumentative 
attention.  But  having  created  and  cancelled  the  occasion  for 
argument,  the  Priest  proceeds  to  vindicate  his  choice  of  the 
church,  as  suited  to  the  most  lively  life,  and  the  realization  of 
the  highest  and  most  commendable  ambition.  His  improvised 
opponent  is  only  heard  from  vicariously  and  through  the  Priest 
himself,  who  appears  to  restate  the  skeptic's  arguments  and 
objections,  and  then  proceed  in  reply. 

Primarily,  priest-craft  is  pecuniarily  profitable, — the  "hot 
long  ceremonies  of  the  church  cost  a  little,  but  they  pay  the 
price;"  money  makes  the  spiritual  as  well  as  the  secular  mare 
go.  He  had  promised  his  skeptical  guest  that  if  he  "would 
watch  a  dinner  out,"  the^  would  see  "truth  that  peeps  over  the 
glass'  edge  when  dinner's  done  and  body  gets  its  sop."     When 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  22} 

the  clamors  of  hunger  should  be  silenced  with  sop,  truth  would 
dawn, — peep  over  the  edge  of  a  wine-glass.  The  spiritual 
significance  of  the  proposition  is  not  apparent;  but  to  the  Poet 
there  may  have  been  a  mysterious  edification  in  imagining  the 
Lord's  lieutenant  urging  His  cause  and  enforcing  His  precepts 
from  a  sordid  cupidity,  and  deriving  inspiration  from  an 
abdominal  plethora,  stimulated  by  the  contents  of  a  jug,  a 
wine-glass,  or  a  bald-headed  decanter, — truth  peeping  over 
the  glass'  edge  when  body  gets  its  sop. 

The  Priest,  defining  his  skeptical  guest's  position,  said, 
"whatever  more  or  less  I  boast  of  my  ideal  realized,  is  noth- 
ing in  the  balance  when  opposed  to  your  ideal,  your  grand 
simple  life,  of  which  you  will  not  realize  one  jot. " 

The  natural  inference  is  that  if  his  guest  was  not  to  realize 
one  jot  of  his  ideal,  the  grand  simple  life,  it  must  have  been 
because  it  was  unattainable.  This  could  not  be  very  encour- 
aging to  the  ambitious  and  hopeful  votary  to  human  improve- 
ment. The  advantage  he  claimed  for  his  own  ideal  was  its 
practicability,  its  attainability ;  but  the  factors  most  important 
to  both  positions  are  ignored.  The  Priest's  problem  "is  not  to 
fancy  what  were  fair  in  life  provided  it  could  be,  but,  finding 
first  what  may  be,  then  find  how  to  make  it  fair  up  to  our 
means."  In  other  words,  adjust  and  adapt  one's  self  to  the  in- 
superable fact  one  lives  amidst.  If  by  the  argument  it  is  in- 
tended to  furnish  a  formula  for  felicity,  its  own  primal  propo- 
sition destroys  it.  If  mere  content,  the  control,  regulation,  and 
suppression  of  desire  is  life's  acme,  the  problem  may  be  well 
stated;  and  with  persons  of  certain  temperament,  suitably  dis- 
ciplined and  environed,  it  may  be  realized.  But  it  is  not  a 
mere  play  upon  words  to  say  that  it  is  niany  removes  from 
content  to  happiness;  that  both  are  mere  relative  and  compara- 
tive quantities ;  and  no  possible  standard  for  either  of  them  can 
be  even  imagined.  Constitution,  temperament,  and  purpose, 
as  varied,  intensified,  and  modified,  by  educational  prejudice 
and  environment,  had  fortuitously  formed  for  the  Priest  his 
ideal  which  he  claimed  could  be  realized.  Equivalent  factors 
and  influences  operating  perhaps  ditterently  on  a  man  of  dif- 


224  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ferent  mould,  had  formed  for  his  guest  his  ideal,  of  which  the 
Priest  assured  him  he  would  not  realize  one  jot. 

Nothing  is  clearer  than  that  there  could  be  no  absolute  or 
actual  reality  in  either  of  them ;  but  that  they  each  existed  if  at 
all,  in  and  for  themselves  respectively;  and  not  otherwise  nor 
for  persons  of  different  mould.  Neither  of  them  could  be 
either  praiseworthy  or  blameworthy  for  his  ideal  of  life;  nor  in 
any  way  responsible  for  it,  any  more  than  for  life  itself,  or  the 
predicament  in  which  he  finds  himself  placed  in  life.  The  in- 
dividual life  may  be  happy,  it  may  be  merely  content,  it  may 
be  wretched.  In  either  case  much  is  due  to  the  constitution 
and  temperament  of  the  individual.  These  may  be  modifiable 
by  education,  possibly  in  some  measure  by  self-education ;  but 
the  individual  is  no  more  responsible  for  them  in  their  original 
type  or  character  than  for  the  color  of  his  hair.  Nor  is  he 
wholly  accountable  for  the  intluences  brought  to  bear  on  them, 
accomplishing  their  modification. 

His  ideal  of  life,  and  the  intensity  with  which  he  yearns  to 
realize  it,  are  matters  with  which  he  has  little  if  any  more  to  do 
than  to  have  and  suffer  them.  If  his  ideal  is  whimsical  it 
may  be  due  to  his  inherent  exuberance  or  enthusiasm  of  spirit. 
His  susceptibility  to  impressions  admitting  the  kind  offices  of 
adversity,  reality's  stern  rebukes  of  his  ideality  may  bring  him 
to  a  comparatively  rational  sense  of  life's  possibilities  and  pro- 
prieties; but  these  are  his  education.  And  even  its  effect  upon 
him  depends  in  great  measure  upon  his  innate  equalities,  his 
native  constitution  and  temperament. 

So  the  Priest's  postulate,  that  the  true  ideal, — by  which  if  he 
meant  anything  to  the  purpose  he  must  have  meant  one  uni- 
versally true, — is  "no  abstract  intellectual  plan  of  life  c^uite  irre- 
spective of  life's  plainest  laws,  but  one  a  man,  who  is  a  man 
and  nothing  more,  may  lead  within  a  world  which  is  Rome  or 
London,  and  not  Fools-paradise,"  may  have  been  eminently 
true  and  fitting  for  him,  and  egregiously  false  for  his  skeptical 
guest.  Nothing  could  be  more  foreign  to  my  purpose  than  to 
oppose  an  objection  to  educational  proselytism,  which  is  in 
very  truth  the  soul  of  all  the  progress,  such  as  it  is,  that  intel- 
lect has  made.     But  egotistic  dogmatism,  which  too  generally 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  22^ 

prejudices  proselytism,  deserves  the  frown  of  every  liberal 
minded  advocate  of  human  rights  and  promoter  of  progress. 
There  is  no  man  but  is  a  man,  and  nothing  more.  His  ideal  of 
human  life  is  necessarily  a  man's  ideal  of  the  life  of  man.  The 
world  may  be  Rome,  London,  or  some  other  place  to  men  of 
some  minds,  and  quite  a  different  place,  perhaps  a  Fools-para- 
dise, to  men  of  other  minds;  depending  in  great  measure  upon 
the  constitution  and  temperament  of  the  man,  as  modified  by 
influences  and  circumstances  over  which  he  has  no  control. 

The  Priest's  senseless  simile  of  a  six  months  ocean  voyage 
of  a  life  is  no  more  a  fit  illustration  in  regard  to  life's  proprieties 
and  possibilities,  than  in  point  of  uniformity  of  duration.  All 
on  board  on  the  supposed  ocean  voyage  embark  at  once, 
and  when  the  voyage  is  ended  they  all  land  simultaneously. 
There  may  be  entire  uniformity  in  equipment,  accommodation 
and  privation.  But  life  with  its  pleasures,  pains,  proprieties, 
and  possibilities,  is  as  ample  as  space;  and  as  variant  as  the 
features  of  men,  of  which  no  two  were  ever  known  to  be  alike. 
No  two  persons  have  ever  sailed  life's  voyage  in  the  same  craft; 
no  agent's  nor  captain's  mandate  can  limit  a  passenger  thereon 
to  "six  feet  square."  Some  opinionated  egotists,  among 
whom  was  the  Poet's  Priest,  have  attempted  to  do  so,  but 
their  voices  are  drowned  in  the  rush  and  the  roar  of  the  flood 
that  sweeps  them  headlong  to  oblivion,  leaving  them  the  pre- 
carious possibility  of  a  momentary  remembrance,  in  the  breath 
of  the  Poet  who  faintly  echoes  the  helpless  mandate  of  despair 
to  those  about  him. 

The  Priest  proposes  a  faith,  absolute,  flxed,  and  flnal. 
The  proposition  is  a  palpable  solecism.  It  cannot  appropriate- 
ly be  said  "I  absolutely  and  peremptorily  believe."  Belief  is 
only  the  counter  term  of  doubt.  Faith  is  only  the  opposite  of 
infidelity.  Neither  can  be  imagined  without  the  other.  Belief 
is  a  mere  state  of  mind,  which  cannot  be  imagined  except  in 
contrast  with  unbelief.  No  faith,  no  belief,  no  state  of  mind, 
can  be  conceived  of  as  absolute,  fixed,  or  final.  Faith  and 
belief  are  the  results  of  the  operations  of  evidence  upon  the 
mind.  The  mind  must  be  susceptible  to  its  impressions  before 
evidence  can  produce  the  result.     As  long  as  mind  continues. 


226  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

it  is  Still  susceptible  to  impressions.  Stronger  evidence,  of  a 
kind  contrary  to  that  which  produced  the  faith,  may  remove, 
or  at  least  disturb  it;  and  that  which  may  be  disturbed  may  be 
entirely  removed  and  supplanted  by  its  contrary. 

To  say  that  there  is  no  stronger  evidence  than  that  which 
has  produced  a  certain  f^iith,  would  be  in  line  with  the  egotis- 
tic assertion  of  apologetics,  generally;  but  it  would  not  be  very 
philosophical.  It  would  be  equivalent  to  saying  there  remains 
nothing  more  to  be  learned.  If  there  is  more  yet  to  be  learned, 
when  it  shall  be  learned,  it  may  shake  many  of  our  idols  from 
their  pedestals.  It  may  confirm  some  prevalent  faith ;  depend- 
ing largely  on  what  shall  be  learned.  To  be  absolute,  a  thing 
must  be  complete  within  and  of  itself,  unconditionally  and 
without  relation  to  anything  else.  Faith  cannot  be  so,  because 
it  cannot  be  even  imagined  e.xcept  in  contrast  with  unbelief. 
To  be  fixed  a  thing  must  be  immovable.  Faith  cannot  be  so, 
because  it  is  produced  by  evidence  more  or  less  convincing; 
and  on  the  same  principle,  stronger  contradictory  evidence, 
which  for  aught  we  know,  may  exist,  and  may  yet  be  discov- 
ered, would  disturb  and  might  remove  the  faith.  And  to  say 
that  faith  or  any  other  state  of  mind  is  final,  is  to  say  that  mind 
has  ceased  its  activity;  that  progress  has  ended  by  having  cul- 
minated in  perfection,  or  at  least,  in  its  utmost  possible  attain- 
ment. 

If  the  world  has  existed  for  countless  ages,  all  of  which 
have  been  characterized  by  some  kind  and  degree  of  progress, 
and  many  ages  preceded  the  production  of  the  proof  upon 
which  any  prestyit  faith  is  based,  it  is  more  dogmatical  than 
philosophical  to  say  that  any  faith  can  be  final.  Other  faiths 
have  prevailed  before  the  discovery  of  the  evidence  upon  which 
any  present  faith  is  based.  Unless  human  nature  has  material- 
ly changed,  those  antique  faiths  were  based  upon  evidence 
sufficiently  convincing  to  establish  and  maintain  them  for  a 
time.  There  appears  to  be  no  reason  to  believe  that  human 
nature  has  undergone  so  great  a  change  as  to  justify  the  asser- 
tion that  such  faiths  prevailed  without  some  evidence  of  their 
validity.  Whatever  faith  did  prevail  before  the  discovery  of 
the  evidence  upon  which  any  subsequently  prevailing  faith  was 


J 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  227 

established,  must  have  been  valid  to  those  among  whom  it 
did  prevail — otherwise  it  could  not  have  been  a  faith.  And 
even  the  Christian  taith  of  nineteen  centuries  ago,  (which  was 
but  yesterday  in  time)  is  not  valid  in  its  entirety  with  all  pro- 
fessed Christians  of  to-day.  it  has  become  a  coat  of  many 
colors.  The  necessary  result  is,  that  if  progress  is  to  progress, 
there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  an  absolute  tlxed  and  final  faith. 

For  the  sake  of  the  argument  however,  the  Priest  throws 
overboard  his  dogmas,  magnanimously  meets  his  guest  upon 
his  own  ground,  assumes  that  they  are  both  unbelievers,  and 
proposes  to  establish  the  validity  of  the  faith  in  a  fair  and  bona 
fide  argument  for  the  validity  of  the  unbelief.  His  primary 
and  prime  concern,  is  for  some  means  by  which  the  unbelief 
may  be  turned  to  account.  "Where's  the  gain  .^  How  can 
we  guard  our  unbelief,  and  make  it  bear  fruit  for  us  ?"  The 
bed-rock  of  his  religion  then  is  selfishness,  personal  interest. 
If  unbelief  is  a  less  profitable  resource  than  faith,  it  is  invalid. 
The  test  of  their  respective  claims  to  validity  is  their  respective 
capacity  to  contribute  to  the  advantage  of  their  adherents;  and 
the  Priest  would  not  believe  even  in  his  unbelief,  unless  he 
could  utilize  it  to  his  personal  profit. 

Then  in  the  presence  of  and  contemplating  "this  scene  of 
man"  he  says,  "we  look  on  helplessly,  there  the  old  mis'giv- 
ings,  crooked  questions  are,  this  good  God — what  he  could  do, 
if  he  would,  would,  if  he  could — then  must  have  done  long 
since.  If  so,  when,  where,  and  how  .^  Some  way  must  be, — • 
once  feel  about,  and  soon  or  late  you  hit  some  sense,  in  which 
it  might  be,  after  all.  Why  not  the  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life  .^" 
This  recalls  the  backwoods-man's  argument  that  his  hound 
was  a  good  hunter, — because  he  was  worthless  otherwise. 
The  sum  of  the  argument  is  that  the  faith  is  valid  because  of 
necessity  it  must  be  so.  This  is  in  line  with  the  general  argu- 
ment of  apologetics,  and  if  the  faith  has  no  more  validity  than 
such  argument,  its  adherents  may  reasonably  be  expected  to 
be  a  "little  flock,  despised  few."  Assuming  the  attitude  of  an 
unbeliever,  and  then  assuming  the  existence,  the  power,  and 
the  goodness  of  "this  good  God,"  is  assuming  both  sides  of 
the  controversy ;  and  the  reasonable  result  of  the  reasoning  can 


228  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

be  little  if  anything  more  than  "the  grand  Perhaps."  An  un- 
believer cannot  admit,  much  less  assert  the  existence,  power, 
and  goodness  of  "this  good  God;"  to  do  so  he  becomes  a  be- 
liever, he  has  faith  the  validity  of  v/hich  the  Priest  proposes  to 
prove  from  the  premise  of  unbelief. 

The  Priest,  professing  to  argue  from  the  unbeliever's  pre- 
mise, says  "all  we  have  gained  then  by  our  unbelief,  is  a  life 
of  doubt  diversified  by  faith,  for  one  of  faith  diversified  by 
doubt.  *  *  *  1  know  the  special  kind  of  life  1  like,  what 
suits  the  most  my  idiosyncrasy,  brings  out  the  best  of  me  and 
bears  me  fruit,  in  power,  peace,  pleasantness,  and  length  of 
days.  1  find  that  positive  belief  does  this,  for  me,  and  unbe- 
lief no  whit  of  this."  it  is  difficult  to  understand  how  posi- 
tive belief,  "conclusive  and  exclusive  in  its  terms,"  can  be  di- 
versified by  doubt;  or  how  a  candid  argument  from  the  pre- 
mise of  unbelief,  can  turn  in  favor  of  belief  on  considerations  of 
personal  profit,  such  as  power,  peace,  pleasantness,  and  length 
of  days;  or  how  a  special  kind  of  life,  or  an  idiosvncrasy  can 
be  an  apt  illustration  in  arguing  a  question  whose  application 
is  to  be  universal.  If  the  faith  is  a  positive  and  not  a  negative 
quantity,  the  fact  that  it  and  its  special  kind  of  life  were  suited 
to  the  Priest's  idiosyncrasy,  is  almost  a  conclusive  argument 
agarnst  the  validity  of  the  faith  for  mankind  in  general,  it 
might  be  well  suited  to  his  personal  peculiarities  (amounting 
to  idiosyncrasy)  and  have  no  validity  whatever  for  persons  of 
a  different  mould,  and  of  different  previous  condition.  And 
the  generality  of  mankind  must  be  of  a  different  mould  from 
him,  or  his  would  not  be  an  idiosyncrasv. 

Amid  the  maze  of  metaphor  the  Priest  occasionallv  makes  a 
palpable  hit,  conspicuous  among  which  is  his  allusion  to  the 
determination  of  unbelief  to  be  unhappy  on  life's  voyage  unless 
on  its  own  peculiar  ideal  of  the  proprieties  and  possibilities  of 
life's  voyage.  Determined  to  be  happv  in  its  own  way  or  not 
at  all,  when  disgruntled  unbelief  finds  itself  cramped  to  "six 
feet  square"  and  obliged  to  dispense  v/ith  its  imagined  con- 
veniences, it  stubbornly  refuses  the  comfort  which  it  might 
have,  if  it  would  gracefully  conform  to  the  inevitable;  it  egotis- 
tically prefers  its  opinion,  its  "artist-nature,"  to  content,  com- 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  22(^ 

fort,  or  happiness  measured  by  any  other  standard.  But  he  is 
then  simply  reasoning  in  a  circle,  and  comes  back  to  a  primary 
question, — What  is,  or  what  makes  happiness  ?  It  may  be 
one  thing  to  one  man;  and  quite  a  different  thing  to  another 
man. 

From  his  peculiar  constitution  and  temperament,  his  inher- 
ent characteristics  and  idiosyncrasies,  the  unbeliever  may  be 
happier,  or  nearer  happy,  or  more  content,  maintaining  his 
ideal,  than  in  attempting  to  utilize  the  resources  available  for 
the  happiness,  content,  or  comfort  of  the  believer.  Perhaps 
proving  his  artist-nature  may  be  more  agreeable  to  him  than 
all  the  cabin-comforts  of  the  voyage  enjoyed  by  the  believer. 
This  is  purely  a  question  of  taste,  and  taste  is  as  variant  as  any 
other  characteristic  of  man. 

in  addition  to  the  truckling  servility  which  is  fundamental 
to  all  apologetics,  the  Priest  exhibits  a  cowardly  courage  in  his 
faith,  and  a  dissembling  honesty  in  his  constancy.  He  says, 
"If  once  we  choose  belief,  on  all  accounts  we  can't  be  too  de- 
cisive in  our  faith,  conclusive  and  exclusive  in  its  terms,  to 
suit  the  world  which  gives  us  the  good  things.  In  every  man's 
career  are  certain  points  whereon  he  dare  not  be  indifferent; 
the  world  detects  him  clearly  if  he  dare,  as  baffled  at  the  game 
and  losing  life."  If  this  means  anything  it  is  a  proposition  to 
serve  both  God  and  Mammon,  not  daring  to  be  indifferent  on 
certain  points  in  one's  career  for  fear  of  being  detected  by  the 
world.  Interest,  personal  profit,  cupidity,  inspire  a  sublime 
sort  of  faith,  to  be  sustained  by  the  hope  of,  and  rewarded  by 
receiving,  the  good  things  which  the  world  gives;  and  a  pious 
fraud  is  to  be  perpetrated  upon  the  world,  lest  it  withhold  the 
good  things. 

The  believer  would  seem  to  be  in  a  very  delicate  position, — 
being  under  the  surveillance  of  the  world  in  his  service  of  the 
Lord.  But  the  proposition  is  worse  than  senseless.  Man  can- 
not choose  either  belief  or  unbelief.  If  that  which  he  calls  his 
faith  is  such  from  mere  choice  it  cannot  be  belief;  really  it  can- 
not be  faith.  Man  cannot  avoid  being  born;  he  cannot  avoid 
being  born  with  certain  predilections;  he  cannot  avoid  being 
constituted  as  he  is  constitued.     If  he  were  not  susceptible  to 


230  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

impressions  he  would  not  be  a  man.  If  he  could  determine  for 
himself  how  he  would  be  affected  by  impressions,  or  how  he 
would  be  impressed,  he  would  not  be  a  man,  such  a  man  as 
was  ever  yet  known.  If  he  could  determine  for  himself  to  what 
influences  he  should  be  exposed,  he  would  be  more  than  a 
man.  Belief  is  a  state  of  mind,  caused  by  the  operation  of 
something  external  thereto  upon  the  mind.  Man  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  nature  of  his  mind.  He  cannot,  in 
this  world  at  least,  avoid  being  exposed  to  the  influences  of  ex- 
ternal agencies,  nor  can  he,  without  being  able  to  change  the 
nature  of  his  mind,  determine  how  his  mind  shall  be  affected 
by  such  influences.  They  may  force  him  to  believe  or  disbe- 
lieve, utterly  regardless  of  choice — and  there  can  be  no  choos- 
ing belief.  The  Priest  happening  to  be  born  in  "one  great  form 
of  Christian  faith,"  which  as  he  grew  up  was  given  him  to 
teach,  "as  best  and  readiest  means  of  living  by,"  and  "proved 
the  most  pronounced  moreover,  fixed,  precise,  and  absolute 
form  of  faith  in  the  whole  world — accordingly  the  most  potent 
of  all  forms  for  working  on  the  world;"  and  his  tact  to  let  ex- 
ternal forces  work  on  him ;  had  exalted  him  above  his  fellows 
in  the  world  and  made  his  life  "an  ease,  a  joy,  and  pride."  It 
would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  baser  motive  for  advocating  a 
doctrine,  or  a  more  convincing  argument  against  the  validity  of 
a  faith.  Happening  to  be  born  in  this  great  form  of  Christian 
faith,  he  divests  himself  of  all  possible  claim  of  merit  by  adopt- 
ing and  teaching  it  from  motives  of  sordid  interest.  If  the  faith 
had  made  him  what  he  was,  or  if  by  its  means  he  was  enabled 
to  make  himself  what  he  was,  nothing  could  be  more  deleter- 
ious to  the  general  welfare  than  the  prevalence  of  such  faith. 
A  more  grovelling  appetite  seldom  incites  men  to  physical 
action,  to  say  nothing  of  inspiring  the  exercise  of  faith;  a  more 
despicably  self-complacent  egotism  is  seldom  if  ever  combined 
with  so  contemptible  a  servility  to  public  opinion;  and  if  such 
a  faith  is  "the  most  potent  of  all  forms  for  working  on  the 
world,"  it  is  the  most  stupenduous  of  all  frauds,  and  bodes  no 
good  to  mankind. 

The  Priest  chiefly  censures  his  skeptical  guest  for  his  sesthe- 
tical  ideal  of  life ;  and  boasts  for  himself  a  more  practical  ideal ; 


J 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  23 1 

that  he  takes  life  as  he  finds  it;  that  he  utilizes  life  for  all  it  is 
worth  in  personal  comfort  and  the  gratification  of  temporal  de- 
sires; and  argues  that  the  more  economically  he  husbands  his 
resources  for,  and  the  more  scrupulously  he  complies  with  the 
conditions  of  physical  welfare  in  the  present, — the  more  he  is 
assured  of  being  in  line  with  the  conditions  of  spiritual  welfare 
in  the  future.  But  in  no  one  expression  of  thought  does  he 
rise  above  a  beggarly  desire,  or  sensual  appetite,  nor  appear  to 
be  actuated  by  a  motive  above  an  absorbing  self-interest.  The 
advocacy  of  good  for  its  own  sake  is  not  hinted  at,  unless  it  is 
denounced  in  rejecting  his  skeptical  guest's  ideal,  "the  grand 
simple  life;"  of  which  not  one  jot  should  be  realized.  Slavish 
fear  and  sordid  interest  are  the  body  and  soul  of  the  apology. 
If  they  dignify  and  ennoble  a  life,  embellish  a  character,  or 
justify  a  faith,  the  apology  may  have  a  meaning  lurking  some- 
where amid  the  labyrinths  of  its  scholarly  obscurity;  otherwise 
it  is  an  unmeaning  jumble  of  words. 

in  apologetics  it  is  generally  claimed  that  creation  is  meant 
to  manifest  the  Creator.  But  the  Priest  makes  a  new  depart- 
ure, saying  it  is  "meant  to  hide  him  all  it  can,"  that  "under  a 
vertical  sun,  the  exposed  brain  and  lidless  eye  and  disem pris- 
oned heart  less  certainly  would  wither  up  at  once,  than  mind 
confronted  with  the  truth  of  Him." 

If  this  be  true,  the  Lord  has  very  elaborately  and  conspicu- 
ously concealed  Himself.  If  mind  confronted  by  the  truth  of 
Him  would  so  certainlv  wither  up  at  once,  it  should  cease  its 
speculations  concerning  Him,  because  in  some  of  its  specula- 
tions it  has  compassed  some  very  vast  truths;  and  it  may  ulti- 
mately (if  there  comes  an  ultimate)  be  confronted  with  the 
truth  of  Him. 

Here  then  is  a  predicament.  The  universal  aim  of  Apolo- 
getics is  to  confront  mind  with  the  truth  (knowledge)  of  the 
Creator,  "whom  to  know  aright  is  life  eternal."  It  never  pre- 
tends to  have  any  other  aim,  and  no  other  object  is  legitimately 
possible.  If  that  would  be  destructive  to  mind,  if  mind  con- 
fronted with  the  truth  of  him  would  so  certainlv  wither  up  at 
once,  then  the  only  possibly  legitimate  office  of  apologetics  is 
an  illegitimate  office,  unless  the  destruction  of  mind  is  a  legiti- 


2^2  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

mate  purpose.  Professing  to  work  for  the  weal  of  man.  striv- 
ing to  bring  iiim  into  closer  relations  with  his  Maker,  in  more 
harmonious  accord  with  Him;  to  a  higher  conception  of  Him; 
to  a  clearer  understanding  and  knowledge  of  Him ;  and  yet  de- 
claring such  knowledge  ruinous, — that  mind  confronted  there- 
with would  wither  up  at  once.  The  expression  is  utterly  with- 
out meaning;  it  is  a  senseless  figure  of  speech. 

The  predicament  is  even  worse  than  this.  Creation  is  man- 
ifestly the  work  of  the  Creator,  it  cannot  be  creation  unless 
created  by  a  Creator.  No  one  can  know  that  he  is  in  creation 
without  in  some  measure  contemplating  creation;  and  the  con- 
templation of  creation  as  creation,  necessarily  suggests,  in  some 
measure  shows,  the  Creator.  All  phenomena,  from  the  faint 
glimmer  of  the  glow-worm  to  the  vivid  flash  of  fork  lighten- 
ing, from  the  soft  sigh  of  the  zephyr  to  the  terrible  roar  of  the 
tempest;  from  the  dullest  physical  sensation  to  the  trickling  of 
philosophy  from  the  point  of  a  pen,  send  forth  a  voice ;  in  short 
from  all  conceivable  phenomena,  in,  of,  or  incident  to  creation, 
there  comes  a  voice  declaring  the  Creator.  That  voice  comes 
to  man,  who  is  by  the  Creator  so  constituted  in  and  as  a  part 
of  creation  that  he  cannot  possibly  reject  or  mistake  it. 

Then  "the  blessed  evil"  is  not  meant  to  hide  the  Creator  all 
it  can,  but  to  declare  Him ;  more  clearly  perhaps  to  some  men 
than  others,  but  no  minds  have  yet  withered  up  from  being 
"confronted  with  the  truth  of  Him."  Perhaps  no  mind  has  yet 
been  confronted  with  the  whole  truth  of  Him;  and  possibly  no 
mind  is  capable  of  taking  or  enduring  it  if  it  were  confronted 
with  the  whole  truth  of  Him.  But  a  significant  indication  of 
the  infinite  possibilities  of  the  human  mind  is  its  utter  helpless- 
ness to  define  or  estimate  its  own  capacity.  No  mind  ever 
knew  so  much  that  it  could  not  take  more.  If  it  is  impossible 
for  a  mind  to  ascertain  the  limit  of  its  own  capacity,  how  can 
it  know,  and  with  what  propriety  can  it  say,  that  being  con- 
fronted with  the  whole  truth  of  the  Creator  would  cause  it  to 
wither  up  at  once. 

It  were  idle  to  even  glance  at  his  minor  musings,  in  an 
attempt  to  ascertain  one's  real  merit  as  a  poet.  And  if  he  has 
assumed  the  airs  and  proportions  of  a  philosopher,  it  is  not 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  2^} 

likely  that  his  philosophical  masterpiece  has  been  intentionally 
rendered  in  interior  poetry.  Whatever  else  may  be  intended 
in  the  obscurity  from  which  the  above  examined  propositions 
are  taken,  it  is  certain  that  they  cannot  be  interpreted  and  un- 
derstood otherwise  than  as  1  have  presented  them;  unless 
language  is  better  calculated  to  conceal  and  disguise,  than  to 
express  thought.  Having  candidly  examined  the  philosophy 
with  the  results  above  given,  it  were  sufficient  to  say  of  the 
poetry,  that  it  is  very  evenly  matched  with  the  philosophy.  It 
would  not  mend  matters  to  say  that  the  conclusion  of  the 
apology  indicates  that  the  Priest  had  been  toying  with  his 
guest,  not  believing  nor  intending  for  him  to  believe  what  he 
said ;  no  more  than  to  say  he  did  not  understand  or  expect  his 
guest  to  understand  it.  Either  subterfuge  would  only  render 
the  outrage  on  literature  the  more  revolting. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

OBSCURITY    AND    PROFUSION    AS    INDICATIONS    OF   GENIUS. 

Elaboration  of  Preludes  to  Literary  Productions — indefinite  Impulse  to  Write — 
Verifying  Inspiration  in  Reason — Philosopliy  Rises  no  Higher  than  Proba- 
bility—  Pleasure  in  Being  Duped — The  Reverence  Due  to  Man — Economy 
of  the  Process  by  which  Destiny  is  Reached — Destiny  of  iMan  Hanging 
Upon  Individuals — Individuals  Mere  Instrumentalities — The  Most  Myster- 
ious the  Most  Easily  Discernible — Man's  Weakness  Due  to  his  Mistrust 
— If  Evidence  Divine  were  Credible  to  Man  he  Would  Trust — Constitution, 
Environment,  Duty,  and  Destmy — Self-restraint,  an  Unreasonable  Re- 
quirement— Defying  the  Reason  whose  Sanction  was  to  be  Obtained — 
Reason  cannot  Live  in  the  Altitudes  to  which  the  Imagination  Soars. 

It  seems  there  would  he  a  logical  propriety  and  fitness  in 
leading  up  to  and  through  a  literary  product  in  such  manner, 
and  by  such  gradations,  as  to  render  the  consummation  an  in- 
telligible and  natural  result  of  the  process.  A  direct  exhibition 
of  the  gist  of  a  matter  may  surprise  one,  agreeably  or  other- 
wise, but  the  ultimate  effect  is  not  likely  to  be  so  beneficial  as 
where  it  is  regularly  unfolded  and  developed  as  the  necessary 
sequence  of  valid  premises  intelligibly  proposed.  This  of 
course  is  upon  the  hypothesis  that  there  be  a  comprehensible 
gist  of  the  matter  susceptible  of  being  so  proposed.  But  even 
then  such  considerations  would  not  justify  amplifying  the  in- 
troductory or  prefatory  parts  into  proportions  more  elaborate 
than  those  of  the  performance  proper. 

Where  there  is  no  definite  gist  of  the  matter,  and  the  per- 
formance purports  to  be  poetico-philosophical,  consisting  of 
two  parts  of  nearly  equal  dimension  which  are  themselves 
subdivided  into  several  parts,  it  matters  not  how  natural  their 
succession,  nor  how  fascinating  any  of  the  parts  may  appear, 
if  each  is  in  itself  incomplete,  and  the  whole  does  not  present  a 
definite  and  intelligible  philosophy,  it  can  be  but  little  if  any 
more  than  mere  vagary;  brilliant,  perhaps  in  some  of  its  flashes, 
profound,  possibly  in  some  of  its  propositions;  but  still,  as  a 
whole,  mere  vagary. 

If  an  apologetic  excursionist  preludes  his  excursion  in  four- 
teen acts,  and  then  performs  the  excursion   itself  in   nine,  he 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  2}^ 

will  have  introduced  himself  with  ceremony  sufficiently  elabo- 
rate for  the  performance  of  the  principal  part  of  the  piece. 
Then  if  in  presenting  the  excursion  itself,  he  takes  the  specta- 
tor through  a  variety  of  scenes,  beautiful,  touching,  and  inspir- 
ing, and  finally  leaves  him  just  where  he  found  him — while 
the  spectator  may  have  been  royally  entertained,  he  will  not 
have  been  benefited  philosophically — ^he  may  be  more  annoyed 
with  disappointment  in  the  result  than  pleased  with  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  excursion. 

It  appears  that  in  performing  the  Prelude  and  Excursion  the 
impulse  "to  construct  a  literary  work  that  might  live"  was 
much  stronger  than  the  Poet's  sense  of  necessity  or  propriety 
of  treating  any  particular  subject  in  any  particular  manner. 
After  naming  numerous  themes  he  had  considered,  and  from 
among  which  he  was  unable  to  select  a  subject  suitable  for  his 
contemplated  v/ork  that  might  live,  he  says: — ■ 

"My  last  and  favorite  aspiration  mounts 
With  yearning  towards  some  philosophic  song 
Of  truth  that  cherishes  our  daily  life; 
With  meditations  passionate  from  deep 
Recesses  in  man's  heart,  immortal  verse 
Thoughtfully  fitted  to  the  Orphean  lyre; 
But  from  this  awful  burthen  1  full  soon 
Take  refuge  and  beguile  myself  with  trust 
That  mellower  years  will  bring  a  riper  mind 
And  clearer  insight.     Thus  my  days  are  past 
In  contradiction;  with  no  skill  to  part 
Vague  longing,  haply  bred  by  want  of  power, 
From  paramount  impulse  not  to  be  withstood." 

This  has  at  least  the  merit  of  candor.  And  while  the  pieces 
contain  some  consummate  poetry,  one  would  infer  from  the 
above  quotation  that  the  poetry  was  the  product  of  impulse 
rather  than  that  of  inspiration,  that  the  poet  was  oppressed 
with  a  vague  longing  for  some  subject  to  adorn  with  the  flow- 
ers of  poetry,  and  with  an  irresistible  impulse  to  write,  and 
that  he  lacked  the  skill  to  part  the  longing  from  the  impulse, 
if  the  result  of  his  effort  philosophically  considered  is  the  cor- 
rect criterion,  he  was  not  happy  in  his  choice  of  a  subject. 
The  impulse  and  the  last  and  favorite  aspiration  forced  him  to 


236  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

adopt  a  theme,  his  treatment  of  which  has  badly  blemished 
some  very  pretty  pastorals.  And  ethically  considered  the  poet 
has  placed  himself  at  a  serious  disadvantage.  No  matter  what 
his  impulses  and  aspirations  may  be,  he  has  no  right  to  be 
heard  unless  he  has  something  to  say,  which  he  cannot  have 
without  knowing  what  it  is,  or  at  least  what  it  concerns.  An 
irresistible  impulse  to  write  something  that  might  live,  unat- 
tended with  any  idea  of  what  it  should  be  or  concern,  is  simply 
a  malignant  type  of  the  itch  for  fame.  Having  no  definite  and 
intelligible  idea  of  some  specific  subject  his  treatment  of  which 
would  be  beneficial  to  mankind,  he  was  under  no  obligation  to 
goad  his  genius  to  any  extraordinary  exertions.  If  one  yields 
to  a  blind  impulse  to  write,  harries  himself  in  the  selection  of  a 
subject,  and  finally  chooses  one  merely  because  he  thinks  that 
by  its  treatment  he  will  be  most  likely  to  immortalize  himself, 
he  is  not  actuated  by  a  disinterested  sense  of  duty,  and  acquires 
no  valid  claim  to  the  gratitude  of  mankind.  His  motives  are 
essentially  selfish ;  and  while  he  may  master  the  art  of  poetic 
ornamentation,  a  man  capable  of  such  motives  is  not  likely  to 
be  of  calibre  sufficient  for  the  construction  of  a  philosophy. 
Then  if  he  spends  five  years  writing  a  Prelude  to  show  the  de- 
velopement  of  his  own  mind,  states  particularly  how  he  was 
impressed  with  the  sight  of  every  object  he  had  seen,  and  the 
sound  of  every  noise  he  had  heard  from  the  dawn  of  his  mem- 
ory, and  concludes  by  announcing  himself  a  Prophet  of  Nature, 
and  promising  to  "speak  a  lasting  inspiration,  sanctified  by 
reason,  blest  by  faith,"  his  superficial  reader  may  be  prepared 
to  expect  the  Quintessence  of  a  Life-philosophy.  The  one 
who  reads  between  the  lines  and  to  the  bottom  of  things,  will 
not  be  so  sanguine. 

There  is  no  more  objection  to  the  finest  style  and  most 
beautiful  form  of  expression  in  philosophy,  than  in  any  other 
department  of  letters.  But  one  could  scarcely  claim  to  have 
fulfilled  an  engagement  to  speak  a  lasting  inspiration  sanctified 
by  reason  and  blest  by  faith,  by  having  merely  described  some 
pastoral  scenes,  some  rural  life,  some  rustic  manners,  some 
common-place  anecdotes,  and  rehearsed  some  unphilosophic 
colloquy;  no  matter  how  beautiful  the  poetry  in  which   it  may 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  237 

all  be  rendered.  And  the  reader  of  the  work  of  such  preten- 
sions as  are  necessarily  implied  in  such  promise,  ought  not  to 
allow  himself  to  be  blinded  to  a  total  absence  of  philosophy  by 
the  beauty  and  profusion  of  its  poetry.  Nor  should  he  oyer- 
look  the  palpable  contradiction  in  the  promise  itself  If  the 
lasting  inspiration  is,  as  it  purports  to  be,  of  something  divine, 
it  may  be  blest  by  faith,  but  it  can  never  be  sanctified  by  rea- 
son.    Religion  and  Reason  will  mix  no  more  than  fire  and  frost. 

Reason  can  aspire  to  or  affect  an  equality  with  Religion  (or 
with  divine  wisdom)  with  about  the  same  propriety  as  that 
with  which  man  can  aspire  to  or  affect  an  equality  with  his 
Maker.  Much  less  can  reason  sanctify  or  verify  a  product  of 
divine  inspiration.  Reason  is  the  peculiar  attribute  of  man,  as 
instinct  is  that  of  the  brute,  and  as  divine  wisdom  (if  it  is)  is 
tnatofthe  Almighty.  Those  who  have  composed  what  zve 
call  holy  writ,  under  what  they  call  divine  inspiration,  have 
never  sought  to  have  any  of  their  lasting  inspiration  sanctified 
or  verified  by  reason;  but  on  the  contrary  they  expressly  dis- 
claim all  reliance  upon  the  wisdom  of  this  world.  Generally 
they  say  "thus  saith  the  Lord;"  and  if  they  are  correct  in  this, 
their  lasting  inspiration  is  sufficiently  sanctified  and  verified 
without  recourse  to  reason.  Indeed  it  would  be  extremely 
illogical  for  the  higher  to  appeal  to  the  lower  for  sanctiflcation 
or  verification,  in  anything  being  propounded.  Unless  the 
human  mind  approaches  nearer  to  an  equality  with  the  infinite 
wisdom  of  the  Almighty,  than  the  sensory  capacity  of  brutes 
approaches  to  an  equality  with  the  human  mind,  there  could 
be  no  more  propriety  in  attempting  to  sanctify  or  verify  a  last- 
•ing  inspiration  by  human  reason,  than  there  could  be  in  at- 
tempting to  verify  a  human  philosophy  by  brute  instinct.  We 
certainly  have  no  right  to  assume  that  the  distance  from  man 
to  brute  is  greater  than  that  from  man  to  his  Maker. 

No  human  philosophy  has  ever  risen  above  probability. 
New  ones  are  constantly  appearing,  supplanting  older  ones, 
because  of  their  supposed  nearer  approach  to  probability. 
Philosophy  is  simply  the  mind's  deduction  (by  reasoning)  from 
the  data  of  observable  phenomena,  of  whatever  kind.  Reason 
has  performed  the  highest  possible  function  of  its  office,  when 


238  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

it  has  produced  a  philosophy  approaching  as  nearly  as  may  be 
to  the  probable;  and  it  will  be  likely  to  overreach  itself  when- 
ever it  offers  to  sanctify,  verify,  or  vouch  for  the  validity  of  any 
divine  inspiration.  No  human  philosophy  has  ever  yet  ap- 
peared, but  a  better  one  was  possible,  and  generally  soon  there- 
after made  its  appearance.  They  are  mile-stones  in  the  march 
of  Intellect,  marking  its  progress, — toward  what  ?  Toward 
Certainty  ?  Perhaps  not,  but  certainly  toward  greater  proba- 
bility. This  progress  began  with  the  first  linking  of  one 
thought  with  another  in  the  earliest  cognitions  of  primeval 
man.  it  will  continue  as  long  as  the  organs  of  thought  remain 
constituted  as  they  now  are.  Reason  has  never  done  anything 
better  or  greater  than  to  construct  a  system  of  philosophy, 
except  it  were  to  construct  another  of  a  higher  degree  of  proba- 
bility. It  must  show  a  greater  capacity  than  that,  a  capacity 
that  cannot  be  exceeded,  before  it  can  with  propriety  offer  to 
sanctify  or  verify  a  lasting  inspiration.  The  greatest  known 
works  of  reason  are  its  philosophies,  which  have  been  con- 
stantly improving  (changing)  ever  since  the  dawn  of  history. 
This  implies  a  corresponding  improvement  (development, 
change)  of  the  reason  itself  The  reason  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury might  sanctity  an  inspiration,  which  (the  changed)  the 
better  developed  reason  of  the  twentieth  century  would  be 
obliged  to  reject. 

Some  of  the  matter  of  the  lasting  inspiration  will  scarcely 
ever  be  sanctified  or  verified  by  enlightened  reason.  The  Poet 
takes  a  singular  solace  in  the  fact  that  in  early  life,  while 
receiving  the  impressions  that  moulded  his  ultimate  opinion  of 
mankind,  he  had  been  gratefully  imposed  upon.  He  aptly  ■ 
illustrates  the  cynical  saw  that  all  happiness  consists  in  being 
well  deceived;  and,  thanking  the  Almighty  for  the  delusion, 
he  says, — 

"From  the  restraint  of  overwat:hful  eyes 
Preserved,  I  moved  about,  year  after  year, 
Happy,  and  now  most  thankful  that  my  walk 
Was  guarded  from  too  early  intercourse 
With  the  deformities  of  crowded  life. 
And  those  ensuing  laughters  and  contempts 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  239 

Self  pleasing,  which,  if  we  would  wish  to  think 
With  due  reverence  ol  earth's  rightful  lord, 
Here  placed  to  be  the  inheritor  of  heaven, 
Will  not  permit  us." 

What  reverence  is  due  earth's  rightful  lord,  the  inheritor  of 
heaven  ?  And  how  is  it  known  to  be  his  due  ?  Is  it  by  ignor- 
ance of  the  facts  relating  to  him?  The  Excursionist  seems  to 
think  that  in  order  "to  think  with  due  reverence  of  earth's  right- 
ful lord,"  we  must  not  know  too  much  about  him.  If  "the 
proper  study  of  mankind  is  man,"  he  must  be  so  studied  as  to 
learn  as  little  as  possible  of  him.  What  reasonable  indication 
is  there  that  earth's  rightful  lord  is  the  inheritor  of  heaven  } 
That  he  is,  is  an  essential  proposition  in  the  lasting  inspiration, 
which  the  Poet  assures  us'shall  be  sanctified  by  reason.  If  it  is 
true,  that  the  more  we  know  of  man,  the  less  the  reverence 
with  which  we  can  think  of  him,  it  would  not  be  very  reason- 
able that  he  should  be  the  inheritor  of  heaven,  unless  heaven 
is  a  very  different  heritage  from  what  the  apologists  generally 
seem  to  regard  it.  Reason  refuses  to  even  ratifv,  much  less 
sanctify,  that  part  of  the  lasting  inspiration. 

Due  reverence  is  manifestly  that  reverence  to  which  one 
may  be  entitled ;  either  more  or  less  than  which  would  not  be 
due  reverence.  Earth's  rightful  lord  is  entitled  to  reverence,  if 
at  all,  in  exact  ratio  with  his  virtue.  If  to  know  him  better 
requires  us  to  think  of  him  with  less  reverence,  it  must  be 
because  by  knowing  him  better,  we  find  him  less  virtuous. 
We  can  still  think  of  him  with  all  the  reverence  to  which  we 
find  him  entitled,  which  is  due  reverence,  even  if  it  be  none 
whatever.  This  we  can  do  much  more  intelligently  and 
reasonably  than  we  can  think  of  him  with  reverence  without 
knowing  him,  or  with  knowing  only  the  best  side  of  him.  So 
that  reason,  instead  of  sanctifying,  or  even  ratifying,  that  part 
of  the  lasting  inspiration  which  inspires  a  blind  reverence  for 
earth's  rightful  lord,  necessarily  repudiates  it.  Reason  refuses 
to  sanctify  or  verify  that  part  of  the  lasting  inspiration  by  which 
we  are  informed  that  earth's  rightful  lord  is  here  placed  to  be 
the  inheritor  of  heaven.  When  .he  is  first  placed  here  he  may 
be  universally  fit  to  inherit  heaven ;  but  he  is  not  here  long  until 


240  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

nine  out  of  ten  of  him  are  almost  unfit  to  inherit  or  inhabit 
earth.  Reason  would  scarcely  sanctify  such  economy  as  this. 
If  he  is  placed  here  to  inherit  heaven,  why  not  place  him  in 
heaven  in  the  start  ?  He  is  placed  here,  and  he  does  not  place 
himself  here.  Orthodoxy  sends  such  an  overwhelming  major- 
ity of  him  to  perdition ;  that  it  would  seem  that  such  was  the 
purpose  of  his  being  here  placed.  If  man  is  intended  to  be  an 
inheritor  of  heaven,  reason  would  neither  sanctify  the  taking  of 
the  circuitous  and  dangerous  route  by  which  Orthodoxy  claims 
he  must  reach  there,  nor  the  sending  of  so  great  a  majority  of 
him  to  the  other  place.  Apologetics  is  universally  an  attempt 
to  verify  a  religious  doctrine  by  some  kind  of  appeal  to  reason, 
and  it  universally  and  necessarily  fails.  Man  may  have  been 
here  placed  to  be  the  inheritor  of  heaven.  He  cannot  kiio-d' 
anything  about  it.  The  doctrine  that  he  is  here  placed  for  such 
purpose,  cannot  be  sanctified  by  reason,  until  reason  is  itself 
reconstructed.  Reason  would  take  a  short  cut  to  results,  and 
place  man  in  heaven  at  first,  or  at  least  would  not  place  him 
where  so  vast  a  majority  must  fail  to  reach  heaven.  Apologet- 
ics supposes  that  man  is  placed  here  by  a  Being  of  infinite  wis- 
dom and  irresistible  power,  of  infinite  love  for  the  creature  He 
has  so  placed  here,  and  that  His  purpose  was  and  is  that  man 
shall  inherit  heaven.  Infinite  and  irresistible  power  cannot  be 
matched  or  withstood  by  any  other  power.  Infinite  love 
loves  through  all  time  and  eternity,  and  the  purpose  of  such  a 
Being  cannot  be  thwarted  by  any  other  being.  A  being  of 
such  power  and  love,  if  He  had  such  purpose  and  was  infinitely 
wise,  would  not  inculcate  in  man,  the  object  of  His  love,  the 
tendencies  that  cause  him  to  thwart  such  purpose.  Reason  at 
once  proclaims  the  invalidity  of  any  appeal  to  herself  to  verify 
anv  religious  tenet.  If  man  is  placed  here  by  such  a  Being  for 
such  a  purpose,  apologetics  is  at  least  idle,  because  the  purpose 
of  such  a  Being  as  is  supposed  so  to  have  placed  man  here, 
will  certainly  be  fulfilled  to  the  very  uttermost.  It  is  absurd  to 
suppose  that  any  other  power  would  be  permitted  to  contra- 
vene such  purpose.  It  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  a  Being  of 
infinite  wisdom,  power,  and  love,  would  create  a  creature  He 
loved  with  such  love,  and  which  he  created  that  it  might  in- 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  24  I 

herit  heaven,  and  then  allow  him  to  fail  of  the  purpose.  Rea- 
son at  once  proclaims,  that  if  man  was  the  creature  of  such 
Power  or  Being  when  created,  endowed,  and  environed,  he 
remains  the  creature  of  such  Power  or  Being;  and  that  he  can- 
not of  himself,  nor  of  any  other  being,  have  any  tendency  de- 
leterious to  the  purpose  of  his  Creator  in  his  creation.  On  the 
hypothesis  that  apologetics  is  not  idle  (or  worse)  reason  can 
never  sanction  or  verify  the  proposition  that  man  is  here  placed 
by  the  Almighty,  to  be  the  inheritor  of  heaven.  If  he  is  so 
placed  by  such  a  Being  for  such  a  purpose,  the  officious  aid  ot 
apologetics  is  not  essential  to  the  consummation  of  the  purpose. 
While  the  poet  was  preparing  himself  for  his  great  under- 
taking, he  spent  some  time  in  France.  Witnessing  the  disor- 
der of  her  revolution,  and  noticing  how  the  multitude  was 
occasionally  wrought,  and  how  it  appeared  to  be  swayed  by 
individual  power  he  says : — 

"I  resolved 

How  much  the  destiny  of  man  had  still 

Hung  upon  single  persons." 

This  with  the  tifty-two  lines  next  following  it,  would  be  a 
beautiful  sermon  in  philosophy  if  it  were  sound.  Indeed  it  is 
beautiful  to  read  if  one  does  not  linger  and  look  too  closely. 
But  it  assumes  philosophic  airs,  and  its  philosophic  import  is 
not  so  apparent  as  its  poetic  ornamentation.  So  one  must 
linger  if  he  expects  to  get  the  philosophy,  and  when  he  shall 
have  done  so  he  will  find  he  has  not  gotten  the  philosophy 
simply  because  there  is  none  in  it.  When  and  in  what  sense 
has  the  destiny  of  man  ever  hung  upon  single  persons  ?  The 
inhabitants  of  the  Dutch  fiat  who  were  saved  by  the  boy  that 
held  the  Ocean  at  bay  with  his  hand  in  the  incipient  leak  in  the 
dyke;  the  garrison  who  were  saved  by  the  young  gunner 
spreading  his  coat  and  throwing  himself  over  the  open  powder 
barrel;  the  passengers  and  crew  who  walked  down  the  plank 
while  Bledsoe  burned  to  death  holding  the  boat  to  the  shore; 
would  all  have  been  lost  but  for  the  heroism  of  the  otherwise 
unknown  individuals  who  threw  themselves  into  the  breach. 
But  one  would  scarcely  expect  a  philosopher,  constructing  a 


242  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE.  . 

system  of  moral  philosophy,  lo  cite  such  instances  as  illustra- 
tions of  the  destiny  of  Man  hanging  upon  individuals.  It  is 
very  difficult  to  conceive  in  what  sense  he  meant  that  the 
destiny  of  Man  had  so  hung;  but  in  what  purports  to  be  a 
moral  philosophy  the  inference  is  that  the  destiny  of  Man  moral 
and  intellectual  would  be  intended.  Instances  of  such  hanging 
are  very  rare.  Indeed  there  would  seem  to  be  no  such  thing 
supposable  as  a  destiny  of  moral  and  intellectual  Man  in  dis- 
cernible outline  so  as  to  be  recognizable  as  such.  While  there 
is  much  in  common  among  men,  yet  as  moral  and  intellectual 
beings,  there  is  too  much  individuality  among  them  for  them 
to  be  appropriately  summed  up  in  a  mass,  aggregation,  or 
whole,  and  denominated  Man.  If  the  philosopher  speaks  of 
Man  moral  and  intellectual,  he  speaks  of  that  which  appears  to 
be  more  a  condition,  quality,  or  state,  than  an  entity  in  and  of 
itself.  Man  of  to-day  is  identical  with,  or  a  reproduction  of, 
Man  of  the  earliest  known  antiquity,  except  morally  and  intel- 
lectually ;  and  however  different  they  may  be,  the  difference  is 
only  in  condition,  quality  and  state.  The  infinitude  of  variety 
is,  however,  apparent,  when  one  reflects  that  of  all  the  millions 
of  minds  which  have  been  no  two  were  ever  known  to  be 
alike.  They  approach  most  nearly  to  a  resemblance  in  the  very 
fact  of  their  difference, — in  the  persistence  of  their  individuality. 
The  destinies  of  men  moral  and  intellectual  have  hung  upon 
Man,  as  constituting  or  affecting  their  several  environments. 
The  individual  born  into  the  world  with  the  usual  blank  tablet 
called  a  brain,  and  a  voltaic  battery  called  a  heart,  will  crystal- 
ize  according  as  he  lands  and  lodges  on  the  Tigris  or  on  the 
Thames,  in  Pekin  or  in  Paris.  The  impressions  upon  the  tab- 
let, and  the  elements  charging  the  battery,  are  matters  over 
which  he  has  no  control ;  but  according  to  his  native  constitu- 
tion and  temperament  (also  matters  over  which  he  has  no  con- 
trol) they  make  him  individually  the  man  moral  and  intellectual 
which  he  becomes;  and  while  the  agencies  are  in  many  in- 
stances the  same  or  precisely  alike,  the  results  of  their  opera- 
tions never  are,  because  the  subjects  to  be  affected  by  them  are 
never  precisely  alike.  The  destiny  of  the  individual  is  much 
more  dependent  upon  Man  among  whom  his  lines  are  cast, 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  243 

than  the  destiny  of  Man  can  ever  J3e  upon  the  individual. 
Were  it  retorted  that  individuals  have  flashed  like  meteors 
athwart  a  midnight  cloud,  lighted  up  the  storm  and  wrought 
revolutions,  the  answer  is  obvious.  They  have  done  no  such 
thing.  Occasionally  they  have  voiced  a  common  prayer  or  a 
prevalent  but  theretofore  suppressed  sentiment,  about  to  break 
out  in  expression  from  mere  accretion  of  force.  Occasionally 
by  keen  foresight,  but  more  often  by  main  strength  and  awk- 
wardness (assurance  and  accident)  they  have  anticipated  the 
course  of  a  gathering  storm,  and  have  found  themselves  wafted 
to  unexpected  success  and  enduring  fame  on  the  crest  of  the 
foremost  waves  of  an  irresistible  tide  of  public  opinion.  In 
such  case  the  destiny  of  the  individual  has  hung  upon  Man; 
but  I  think  history  furnishes  no  instance  of  the  destiny  of  Man 
having  hung  upon  the  individual, — that  is  the  destiny  of  Man 
moral  and  intellectual. 

Individuals  are  often  the  recognized  instruments  of  a  force  in 
the  achievement  of  ends,  but  the  force  is  not  theirs;  it  is  seldom 
if  ever  under  their  control  or  even  guidance.  It  appears  to 
emanate  from  the  masses  of  Man  whose  destiny  is  being 
shaped  or  affected  by  the  manifestation  of  the  force.  What 
could  Luther  have  done  with  the  (for  centuries)  settled  con- 
victions of  continental  Catholicism,  if  the  great  masses  had  not 
already  become  disgusted  with,  and  incensed  against  the 
putrid  priesthood  and  infallable  imposture  of  mediaeval  Papacy  ? 

The  philosopher  seems  to  have  observed  ''that  there  was, 
transcendent  to  all  local  patrimony,  one  nature,  as  there  is  one 
sun  in  heaven."  What  is  local  patrimony?  Possibly  it  is 
inherited  tendency,  sentiment,  or  characteristic,  as  modified  by 
the  influences  of  location  and  environment.  Patrimony  implies 
inheritance,  and  local  would  seem  to  modify  it  in  some  meas- 
ure with  relation  to  place.  The  phrase  may  mean  much,  but 
it  is  very  obscure.  If  it  means  inherited  quality  as  modified  by 
place  and  environment,  which  is  as  probable  as  any  construc- 
tion that  can  be  made,  there  may  be  one  nature  transcendent 
to  all  local  patrimony,  "'as  there  is  one  sun  in  heaven."  The 
parallel  and  philosophical  significance  are  not  apparent.  The 
one  nature  is  mentioned  in  terms  so  exclusive  as  to  imply  that 


244  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

there  is  but  one,  and  if  this  is  true  the  phrase  "all  local  patri- 
mony, implying  many  and  different  patrimonies,  becomes  a 
contradiction.  Patrimony  must  be  an  effect  or  result  of  nature, 
and  if  nature  is  transcendent,  locality  cannot  so  affect  an  inher- 
ited quality,  what  ever  it  may  be,  as  to  make  patrimonies  of 
patrimony.  If  the  nature  mentioned  is  the  existing  system  and 
established  order  and  course  of  things,  the  connection  of  cause 
and  effect,  it  may  well  be  regarded  as  transcendent  to  all  else; 
but  in  such  case  there  could  be  but  little  if  any  variety  in  patri- 
mony. It  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  difference  in  the  princi- 
ples and  effects  of  gravitation  as  due  to  a  difference  in  local- 
ity. The  workings  of  a  far  subtler  force  in  nature,  indeed  an 
unnamable  force,  would  be  proportionately  more  difficult  to 
apprehend;  so  much  so  that  if  there  are  degrees  of  impossibil- 
ity, it  would  be  by  so  much  the  more  impossible  to  imagine  a 
difference  in  patrimony.  Perhaps  the  philosopher  meant,  and 
was  consoling  himself  with  the  reflection,  that  transcendent  to 
all  provincial  and  acquired  tendency  to  evil,  there  is  an  ulti- 
mate principle  and  universal  sense  of  justice,  curbing  excess 
before  it  becomes  universally  and  finally  fatal.  But  that  would 
imply  a  very  great  stolidity  of  temperament,  or  a  dense  and 
obtuse  optimism  for  a  poet. 

He  seems  further  to  have  observed,  "that  objects,  even  as 
they  are  great,  thereby  do  come  within  the  reach  of  humblest 
eyes."  It  would  not  be  very  complimentary  to  one  assuming 
his  dignity  and  proportions,  to  suppose  that  he  intended  such 
a  proposition  to  be  taken  literally;  that  he  meant  merely  to 
state  the  optical  truism  that  larger  objects  are  more  easily  visi- 
ble than  smaller  ones.  Such  a  statement  so  intended  would 
scarcely  be  found  in  such  connection  in  such  philosophy.  No 
matter  how  eiToneous  the  proposition  may  be,  the  character  of 
the  work  and  the  connection  in  which  the  words  are  found, 
force  one  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  intended  as  a  figur- 
ative assertion,  that  mysteries  in  nature  are  by  their  own  great- 
ness, made  more  easily  solvable, — that  in  proportion  with  their 
own  profundity  they  are  more  and  more  easily  discernible. 
Any  other  construction  supposes  the  philosopher  puerilely 
prattling.     The  only  construction  consistent  with  the  dignity 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  245 

of  the  philosopher  and  his  undertaking,  with  the  gravity  of  the 
subject,  and  with  the  drift  of  the  paragraph  in  which  the  clause 
is  found,  seems  to  be  the  one  which  I  have  supposed ;  and  so 
understood  the  proposition  is  essentially  erroneous.  The 
humblest  vision  (capacity)  could  comprehend  all  nature,  time, 
space,  and  the  purposes  and  plans  of  Providence  (the  pro- 
pounder  of  all  mystery)  if  by  their  greatness  objects  were 
brought  within  the  reach  of  humblest  eyes.  Indeed  there 
would  then  be  no  mvstery;  but  the  more  mysterious,  the 
plainer  would  all  things  appear.  There  are  but  two  horns  to 
this  dilemma, — take  one,  and  the  philosopher  is  a  puerile  prat- 
tler,— take  the  other,  and  he  is  a  fallacious  philosopher.  Other- 
wise his  meaning  is  hopelessly  hidden. 

He  seems  further  to  have  observed  "that  Man  is  only  weak 
through  his  mistrust  and  want  of  hope  where  evidence  divine 
proclaims  to  him  that  hope  should  be  most  sure."  Weakness 
is  merely  a  relative  or  comparative  quality  or  quantity,  it  is 
the  essential  antithesis  of  strength,  and  neither  of  them  can  be 
supposed  except  in  relation  to  or  contrast  or  comparison  with 
the  other.  Hope  would  have  to  make  Man  infinitely  and  abso- 
lutely strong  to  remove  all  his  weakness,  and  no  such  thing  as 
infinite  and  absolute  strength  can  be  imagined.  No  degree  of 
either  weakness  or  strength  can  be  imagined  as  the  utmost. 
It  cannot  be  true  that  man  is  only  weak  through  his  mistrust 
and  want  of  hope,  because  all  the  strength  which  they  could 
give  him,  and  all  the  weakness  that  they  could  remove  from 
him,  would  leave  him  still  weak.  Worse  than  this,  Man  can 
neither  trust  nor  hope,  without  some  measure  of  doubt  and 
anxiety.  Perhaps  one  of  the  worst  weaknesses  of  philosophy 
is  the  absoluteness  with  which  it  declares  its  dogmas, — such 
for  instance  as  that  evidence  divine  proclaims  to  Man  that  hope 
should  be  most  sure.  What  is  this  evidence  divine  ?  and  how 
is  it  communicated  or  proclaimed  to  man  ?  Assertion  is  one 
thing, — philosophic  reasoning  is  quite  another.  If  that  which 
is  knozcii  to  be  evidence  divine  should  proclaim  to  Man  that 
hope  should  be  most  sure  where  he  mistrusts  and  despairs, 
and  thereby  only  makes  himself  weak,  he  would  believe  it;  he 
would  trust  and  hope,   and  thereby  become  strong.     If  such 


246  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

evidence,  though  not  known  to  be  divine,  so  proclaims  to 
Man,  and  he  does  not  so  believe  it  as  to  trust  and  hope  and 
thereby  become  strong,  it  must  be  because  it  does  not  recom- 
mend itself  to  him  as  such  evidence,  or  as  being  in  itself  very 
convincing.  If  it  is  evidence  divine,  and  if  its  proclamation  to 
Man  is  for  the  purpose  of  inspiring  him  with  trust  and  hope 
and  thereby  making  him  strong,  it  should  be  presented  or  pro- 
claimed in  its  convincing  form  so  as  to  have  the  desired  effect. 
If  Man  even  then  should  remain  weak,  evidence  divine  is  only 
wasting  itself  proclaiming  anything  whatever  to  him.  Man 
universally  prefers  strength  to  weakness.  If  any  one  does  not 
so  choose  it  must  be  because  the  same  Power  which  authenti- 
cates the  evidence  divine,  also  made  him  in  such  manner  that 
he  does  not  so  choose.  If  evidence  divine  does  so  proclaim  to 
Man,  it  is  apparent  that  the  proclamation  does  not  quite  reach 
him  in  the  authoritative  tones  of  divine  Power.  That  it  fails  of 
such  effect  may  be  due  to  Man's  peculiar  make-up,  but  Divine 
Power  ought  certainly  to  know  of  this  (if  it  caused  it)  and  it  is 
difficult  to  conceive  of  the  principle  of  economy  upon  which  it 
so  idly  proclaims  anything  to  him.  In  short,  the  same  power 
from  which  the  evidence  divine  emanates,  made  and  moulded 
Man  to  whom  it  proclaims  that  hope  should  be  most  sure.  So 
if  it  goes  unheeded,  and  Man  through  mistrust  and  want  of 
hope  remams  weak,  it  is  because  the  divine  Power  in  making 
and  moulding  Man  operated  in  one  direction  and  to  one  pur- 
pose, and  in  enunciating  the  evidence  divine  It  operates  in  an 
opposite  direction  and  to  a  contrary  purpose.  There  is  no  way 
to  evade  this  conclusion, — there  is  nothing  in  it  to  indicate  the 
existence  of  such  thing  as  divine  constancy. 

The  philosopher  seems  further  to  have  observed,  "that  a 
spirit  strong  in  hope  and  trained  to  noble  aspirations,  a  spirit 
thoroughly  faithful  to  itself,  is  for  Society's  unreasoning  herd 
a  domineering  instinct,  serves  at  once  for  way  and  guide,  a 
fluent  receptacle  that  gathers  up  each  petty  straggling  rill  and 
vein  of  water,  glad  to  be  rolled  on  in  safe  obedience."  This  is 
very  figurative, — but  how  is  the  spirit  to  be  made  strong  in 
hope  ?  We  have  just  seen  how  and  why  it  could  not  reason- 
ably be  expected  to  be  made  so  by  the  proclamations  of  evi- 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFLISION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  247 

dence  divine.  No  other  agency  for  tiie  production  of  such 
strength  has  been  (so  far)  proposed.  Such  a  spirit  may  be 
trained  to  noble  aspirations,  but  what  agency  is  responsible  for 
such  training  ?  It  must  be  constituted  in  a  certain  manner 
before  it  can  so  train  itself.  Such  a  spirit  so  trained  may  be 
thoroughly  faithful  to  itself,  ;ind  it  may  be  a  domineering  in- 
stinct for  Society's  unreasoning  herd,  and  straggling  rills  (per- 
sons of  meagre  capacity  and  uncertain  character)  may  gladly 
commit  themselves  to  its  authoritative  care  "to  be  rolled  on  in 
safe  obedience."'  But  where  is  the  element  of  duty  in  this 
precept  ?  If  moral  philosophy  does  not  propound  a  duty,  what 
is  its  office  ?  The  only  supposable  object  of  the  last  quoted 
observation  is  to  impose  the  duty  of  being  strong  in  hope, 
trained  to  noble  aspirations,  and  thoroughly  faithful  to  one's 
self,  in  order  to  be  a  desirable  domineering  instinct  for  Society's 
unreasoning  herd.  Suppose  that  the  philosopher  himself,  with 
all  his  gifts,  had  happened  to  be  of  a  different  temperament 
from  that  of  which  his  works  imply  that  he  was;  suppose  that 
by  reason  of  circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  control,  he 
had  been  habituated  to  scenes  different  from  those  with  which 
his  works  imply  that  he  was  familiar;  what  then  would  have 
been  his  duty  ?  What  is  duty  ?  And  what  is  its  basis  ?  Reas- 
onably, duty  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  obligation;  and  its 
basis  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  capacity  and  occasion. 
Capacity  and  occasion  are  in  no  sense  and  to  no  extent  within 
the  control  of  the  individual.  If  he  is  so  environed  that  he 
might  be  made  strong  in  hope,  and  be  trained  to  noble  aspira- 
ations,  and  is  neither,  it  must  be  because  he  is  so  constituted 
as  not  to  be,  or  not  to  desire  to  be  either.  And  unless  he  is 
morally  responsible  for  both  constitution  and  environment,  he 
is  under  no  moral  obligation  or  duty  with  respect  to  either  his 
strength  in  hope  or  the  nobleness  of  his  aspirations.  That 
those  so  strong,  trained,  and  faithful  to  themselves,  become 
such  domineering  instincts  for  Society's  unreasoning  herd,  may 
be  a  fact  in  the  natural  history  of  moral  philosophy.  But  rea- 
son will  never  sanctify  the  proposition  that  it  has  any  reason- 
able significance,  so  far  as  concerns  the  imposition  of  a  duty  on 
the  student  of  moral  philosophy. 


248  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

The  philosopher  seems  further  to  have  observed,  "that  a 
mind,  whose  rest  is  where  it  ought  to  be,  in  self-restraint,  in 
circumspection  and  simplicity,  falls  rarely  in  entire  discomfiture 
below  its  aim,  or  meets  with,  from  without,  a  treachery  that 
foils  it  or  defeats."  Reason  will  not  sanctify  the  proposition 
that  a  mind  ought  to  rest  in  self-restraint.  Such  a  doctrine, 
consistently  adhered  to  (and  in  simplicity)  might  have  saved 
the  reading  world  a  great  deal  of  perplexity  about  the  actual 
philosophic  import  of  the  Prelude  and  Excursion  them- 
selves. They  do  not  imply  that  the  philosopher's  mind  had 
rested  very  quietly  in  self-restraint  and  simplicity.  But  precept 
and  practice  are  not  always  nor  often  found  hand  in  hand.  The 
proposition  that  mind  ought  to  rest  in  self-restraint,  is  a  direct 
attack  upon  the  wisdom  of  the  policy,  pursuant  to  which  mind 
was  created  and  endued  with  its  tendencies.  Its  tendency  to 
speculation  is  a  gift  of  Nature,  or  of  the  Power  which  created 
it.  When  man  finds  himself  possessed  of  mind,  he  finds  it 
endued  with  its  natural  tendencies.  On  the  same  principle 
that  one  questions  the  propriety  of  a  natural  tendency  of  the 
mind,  he  may  question  the  propriety  of  man's  being  possessed 
of  mind  at  all.  Most  products  of  Nature  are  supposed  to  have 
been  produced  for  some  purpose,  and  the  Architect  of  mind 
ought  reasonably  to  be  supposed  to  have  known  His  business. 
The  tendency  of  mind  is  probably  as  much  a  product  of  Nature, 
or  of  the  Architect  of  mind,  as  the  mind  itself  can  be.  If  He 
knew  His  business  and  built  the  mind  in  a  certain  fashion,  and 
endued  it  with  certain  tendencies,  for  proper  purposes,  the 
restraint  of  such  tendencies  would  seem  to  imply  a  disapproval 
of  His  work.  If  we  admit  that  His  wisdom  exceeds  ours,  then 
we  ought  reasonably  to  admit  that  the  tendencies  of  the  mind 
were  wisely  bestowed  (or  inflicted)  upon  ir,  and  if  we  do  this 
we  cannot  very  reasonably  propose  to  impose  any  restraint 
upon  them.  As  the  last  quoted  observation  is  essentially  figur- 
ative, I  am  not  unwarranted  in  assuming  that  by  the  term  rest 
the  philosopher  meant  happiness.  The  transition  from  rest  of 
mind  to  happiness  is  generally  regarded  so  slight  as  scarcely 
requires  any  assumption  in  so  construing  the  term.  The 
question  then  arises,  is  happiness  a  positive,  or  is  it  a  negative 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  24Q 

quantity  ?  If  it  is  a  positive  quantity  it  could  scarcely  be  pro- 
moted by  restraint  of  natural  tendencies.  Even  if  it  is  a  nega- 
tive it  could  scarcely  be  so  promoted,  because  restraint  itself 
necessarily  implies  actual  discomfort, — forced  quiet. 

1  have  now  examined  the  several  propositions  forming  the 
basis  of  the  philosophy  of  the  Prelude  and  Excursion,  the  "last- 
ing inspiration"  which  was  to  be  sanctified  by  reason;  and  I 
think  1  have  shown  that  reason  not  only  fails  to  sanctify  them, 
but  that  it  sternlv  repudiates  each  of  them.  There  are  many 
more  in  the  work  equally  as  erroneous  and  unreasonable,  but 
they  are  generally  found  in  what,  to  the  attentive  reader,  will 
appear  to  be  mere  elaborations  of  these.  One,  which  is  in- 
terrogatively put,  may  be  of  interest.  It  is,  "Can  you  ques- 
tion that  the  soul  inherits  an  allegiance,  not  by  choice  to  be 
cast  off,  upon  an  oath  proposed  by  each  new  upstart  notion  ?" 
The  question  occurs, — how  long  must  a  notion  prevail  to  cease 
to  be  a  new  upstart  notion  ?  How  long  had  the  notion  of  this 
iron-clad  allegiance  itself  prevailed  ?  Whence  was  it  derived, 
and  how  is  it  authenticated  ?  Was  not  the  notion  of  Christi- 
anity itself  a  new  upstart  notion  just  a  short  time  ago  ?  If  the 
soul  inherits  an  allegiance  not  to  be  cast  off,  wherein  consists 
its  freedom  .^  If  it  has  no  choice  or  freedom,  whence  comes 
the  idea  of  its  duty  ?  If  it  inherits  the  allegiance,  it  certainly 
does  not  voluntarily  assume  it.  If  it  has  and  exercises  no 
choice,  but  knows  it  must  observe  the  allegiance  or  suffer,  its 
service  is  essentially  slavish  and  selfish, — disinterested  love  and 
manly  duty  have  no  part  in  it.  That  the  observance  of  the 
allegiance  is  urged  on  such  grounds  implies  that  the  allegiance 
would  not  be  observed  but  lor  the  intimidation.  The  result  of 
the  lasting  inspiration  is,  that  the  soul  is  driven  by  fear  to 
observe  an  inherited  allegiance,  that  it  is  informed  it  must  do 
or  die,  and  more  than  two  hundred  pages  are  painted  in  poetic 
pigment,  that  such  inspiration  may  appear  to  be  sanctified  by 
reason.  If  there  can  be  any  means  devised,  by  which  religion 
may  be  more  debased,  the  apologists  may  be  relied  upon  to 
devise  them.  They  are  generally  affected  with  an  impulse  to 
write  something  that  they  hope  may  live,  and  they  would  un- 


250  •     ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

dertake  it,  if  they  knew  that  thereby  the  cause  which  they 
assume  to  advocate  must  die. 

A  memorialist  of  the  poet  has  said,  he  "proposed  to  adapt 
to  poetry  the  ordinary  language  of  conversation,  such  as  is 
spoken  in  the  middle  and  lower  classes,  and  to  replace  studied 
phrase  and  a  lofty  vocabulary  by  natural  tones  and  plebeian 
words."  If  this  is  true  I  must  say  that  the  middle  and  lower 
classes  were  well  up  in  the  art  of  conversation.  The  poet  gen- 
erally soared  pretty  high  for  this ;  but  whether  high  or  low,  his 
poetry  is  generally  very  poetic,  it  is  the  philosophy  which  he 
promised  in  his  learned  and  laborious  strain,  with  which  I 
have  concerned  myself, — his  effort  to  speak  a  lasting  inspir- 
ation sanctified  by  reason ;  in  other  words  his  apologetics. 
Having  rambled  at  such  range,  and  having  devoted  so  much 
space  and  time  to  such  purpose,  it  is  not  a  little  surprising  to 
find  him  on  the  same  Excursion,  defying  the  very  reason 
whose  sanction  of  his  lasting  inspiration  he  had  promised  to 
obtain.  Planting  himself  firmly  upon  that  which  he  occasion- 
ally called  an  absolute  faith  he  says,  "Here  then  we  rest,  not 
fearing  for  our  creed,  the  worst  that  human  reason  can  achieve 
to  unsettle  and  perplex  it."  if  reason  would  sanctify  the  last- 
ing inspiration,  it  certainly  ought  not  to  unsettle  and  perplex  it. 
How  difficult  it  seems  for  obscurity  and  profusion  to  consis- 
tently adhere  to  a  purpose;  and  how  seldom  they  have  that 
which  they  know  to  be  a  purpose. 

Deriving  delight  from  distress,  perceiving  purpose  in  per- 
adventure,  he  says: — "One  adequate  support  for  the  calamities 
of  mortal  life  exists — one  only;  an  assured  belief  that  the  proces- 
sion of  our  fate,  how  e'er  sad  or  disturbed,  is  ordered  by  a 
Being  of  infinite  benevolence  and  power,  whose  everlasting 
purposes  embrace  all  accidents,  converting  them  to  good." 
This  may  be  true.  There  may  be  no  other  adequate  support 
for  the  ills  of  life,  than  an  assured  belief  that  fate  is  ordered  by 
such  a  Being,  whose  purposes  embrace  all  accidents,  convert- 
ing them  to  good.  With  infinite  Power  all  things  may  be 
possible;  and  there  may  be  nothing  impossible.  Infinite 
Power  cannot  be  conceived  of  as  inadequate  to  this ;  nor  can  it 
be  conceived  of  as  adequate  to  it;  nor  can  it  be  conceived  of  at 


OBSCURITY  AND  PROFUSION  AS  INDICATIONS  OF  GENIUS.  2=,l 

all.  The  atmosphere  is  too  rare  to  support  the  flight  of  even 
an  imagination  at  such  an  altitude ;  and  reason  cannot  live  in  it. 
Reason  is  amazed  at  the  idea  of  accident  being  of  purpose,  and 
that  a  Being  of  infinite  benevolence  and  power  would  order  ill, 
merely  to  convert  it  into  good.  Reasonably,  infinite  Power 
could  produce  the  good  in  the  first  instance,  and  would  not  be 
limited  to  ill  for  the  raw  material  out  of  which  to  make  it. 
Reasonably,  infinite  benevolence  ivould  produce  the  good  in 
the  first  instance  if  it  could  do  so,  without  resort  to  such  raw 
material.  Some  one  must  suffer  from  the  ill  which  is  so 
ordered,  and  this  implies  a  limit,  either  to  the  benevolence  or 
the  power  of  the  Being  who  orders  it;  and  reason  would  sug- 
gest some  substitute  for  the  ill,  or  some  other  pastime  for  the 
Power  which  orders  it  and  works  it  up  into  good. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION,    AND    METAPHOR. 

Extent  and  Variety  of  Literary  Domain — Individuality  of  Persons  in  their  Books 
— Eccentricity  taken  for  Genius — Philosophy  More  than  Classification — Lit- 
eratures do  not  Spring  Up — Change  the  Deepest  of  all  Subjects  of  Thought 
— Literature  Chief  Product  of  Mind — Taine's  Imaginary  Revolution,  Intel- 
lectual and  Literary — Misuse  of  Truisms — Unreasonable  Account  of  Rise  of 
Various  Religions — Taine's  Compliment  to  American  Intellectuality — His 
Proposition  that  Religion  is  a  Human  Product — Sources  of  his  Source- 
Tacit  Rage  of  Scandinavians  Still  Survives  in  Sombreness  of  English  La- 
borer— Puritan  Disposition  an  Outgrowth  of  Scandinavian  Rage — The 
New  Tongue — Pagan  Renaissance,  its  Civilization — Christianity  Connected 
the  Literature  of  the  Time  before  the  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  with  that 
of  the  Middle  Ages — Generalization  Resorted  to  to  Avoid  Contradiction- -The 
Philosophic  Historian's  Nightmare,  Change — The  Deathly  Poetic  Spirit — 
Definitely  ascertained  Psychology  of  a  People  Impossible — Imagination  of 
a  Feudal  Hero — Intellectual  Servitude — Physical  Force  the  Basis  of  Thought 
— Imitation  and  Invention  in  Nature — Ecclesiastical  Oppression — Monothe- 
ism vs.  Polytheism — Methods  and  Philosophies  Arising  from  Spirit  of  the 
Age — Relation  Between  the  Theatre  and  Literature — Poetry  and  Painting 
as  Arts  Older  than  History — Products  of  Ages — The  Derivation  of  Religions 
the  Strongest  Argument  Against  Them — No  Religion  can  be  Reasonable — 
Scope  of  the  Religious  Imagination — Paradise  Lost  more  Tragic  than  Epic — 
Taine's  Metaphorical  Criticism  of  Milton's  Metaphor — Loathsome  Classics, 
Temple,  Waller,  Wycherly  and  Others — French  and  English  War  of  1793 
Not  a  Conflict  of  Literatures — The  Spectator,  its  Decline — Dean  Swift  a 
Monstrosity — German  Language  never  Facilitated  Philosophic  Thought — 
Periodicity  of  Change  in  Thought  and  Literature — Accounting  for  Literary 
Freaks — No  Age  calls  Forth  any  Specific  Quality  of  Literature — Obligations 
of  Literary  Integrity. 

The  domain  of  literature  is  so  vast  and  various  that  the  most 
comprehensive  view  of  it  that  one  can  obtain  in  the  course  of  a 
life  time,  can  be  but  little  more,  comparatively  speaking,  than 
a  mere  glimpse.  The  names  of  the  writers  whose  works  are 
in  vogue,  would  themselves  fill  volumes,  to  better  purpose 
than  many  of  them  are  filled  with  their  fluent  tlatulence.  To 
discuss  the  ethics  of  literature  one  must  cite  many  examples  of 
the  expression  and  thought  of  those  whose  records  of  fact  and 
fancy  constitute  the  mass  we  call  literature.  But  if  he  attempts 
to  examine  minutely  many  literary  productions,    he  may  find 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  2^} 

his  work  assuming  unwieldly  proportions,  and  becoming  too 
profuse  to  be  systematic  or  useful.  It  would  seem  more  like 
discussing  individual  merit  than  literature  to  select  certain 
writers  and  their  works  for  the  ground  work  of  such  a  treatise. 
And  yet,  writings  are  not  so  classified,  nor  capable  of  classifi- 
cation, as  to  justify  the  grouping  of  them  in  such  manner  as  to 
do  justice  to  the  subject  by  anything  like  a  general  considera- 
tion of  any  considerable  number  of  them.  The  individuality  of 
men  is  more  marked  in  their  b^oks  than  in  their  persons.  As 
they  only  resemble  each  other  in  being  men,  so  these  only 
resemble  each  other  in  being  books.  Hence  the  reviewer  can 
only  assert  what  he  conceives  in  reason,  philosophy,  and  mani- 
fest utility,  ought  to  be  the  moral  law  of  literature,  and  then 
test  the  merit  of  such  works  of  recognized  authenticity  and  im- 
portance as  his  time  and  resources  may  enable  him  to  examine, 
by  such  standard. 

Such  allusion  as  he  makes  should  be  sufficiently  full  to  be 
fair,  or  his  own  observations  will  be  entitled  to  no  credit,  and 
he  should  not  assume  to  authoritatively  approve  or  disapprove 
of  anything  in  literature,  unless  he  is  moved  by  an  intelligent 
conscientious  conviction  of  the  rectitude  and  propriety  of  his 
judgment.  But  having  once  reached  that  which  he  regards  a 
just  judgment  of  the  merit  of  a  literary  production,  no  consid- 
erations of  popularity,  prestige,  or  fashion,  should  be  allowed 
any  influence  in  determining  him  as  to  his  duty. 

The  bona  fide  reviewer  cannot  profitably  pause  to  notice 
the  triflers  who  can  do  but  little  mischief  beyond  causing  some 
waste  of  time, — he  will  find  enough  to  do  attending  to  those 
of  graver  aspect,  those  affecting  serious  airs,  and  who  seem  to 
have  convinced  themselves  and  to  be  bent  on  convincing  others 
that  they  are  especially  charged  with  the  improvement  of  the 
human  mind.  One  of  the  most  unaccountable  humors  to  be 
encountered  in  such  investigation  is  in  that,  the  more  peculiar 
and  eccentric  the  writer's  methods,  the  more  profoundly  he  and 
his  readers  generally  appear  to  be  impressed  with  the  idea  of 
his  especial  fitness  for  the  office.  I  have  already  examined 
some  works  of  this  kind,  which  appear  to  be  standard  in  liter- 
ature; not  merely  popular  with  a  reading  rabble,  but  recogniz- 


254  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ed  as  superior  among  the  learned,  and  mainly  for  what  tliey 
seem  to  regard  their  philosophy. 

While  particularity  may  verge  to  unprofitable  profusion,  the 
opposite  extreme  is  even  more  objectionable.  Philosophy  is 
more  than  mere  classification,  and  generalization  is  the  stale 
fraud  in  the  practice  of  which  the  superficially  informed  affect 
many  of  their  owl-wise  airs,  than  which  nothing  can  be  more 
contemptible.  At  the  risk  of  tedium  I  have  chosen  to  consider 
particularly  such  subordinate  ^ppics  as  have  occurred  to  me  in 
the  discussion,  in  connection  with  the  subjects  which  have  sug- 
gested them,  believing  that  by  such  means  only,  in  such  in- 
vestigations, definite  results,  specific  and  intelligible  conclus- 
ions can  be  reached. 

A  writer  who  has  casually  glanced  over  a  past  period,  who 
has  an  abbreviated  chronology  of  its  more  important  events 
and  the  names  of  its  more  conspicuous  characters,  may  adjust 
himself  to  that  which  he  fancies  is  the  correct  tune  of  its 
changes,  and  give  to  the  world  that  which  he  fancies  is  a  phil- 
osophy of  the  literature  and  history  of  the  period.  To  call  it  a 
history  of  the  literature  of  a  country  makes  it  no  more  such  a 
history,  and  no  less  an  attempted  philosophy — if  nine  tenths 
of  it  is  devoted  to  discussion  of  the  ficts  stated  in  the  remain- 
ing one  tenth,  and  they  are  drawn  promiscuously  from  all 
countries  and  irregularly  from  all  ages.  By  skillful  classifica- 
tion and  generalization  one  may  show  an  extensive  acquaint- 
ance with  historical  fact;  but  when  he  comes  to  construct  a 
philosophy  of  such  fact  he  will  discover,  at  least  he  should  dis- 
cover, that  coexistence  is  not  correlation  and  that  sequence  is 
not  consequence. 

No  one  was  ever  justified  in  saying  that  at  any  definite  point 
in  time  "the  thinking  public  and  the  human  mind  changed, 
and  whilst  these  changes  took  place  a  new  literature  sprang 
up."  Caesar's  Commentaries  and  Gallic  War  remind  one  too 
vividly  of  Grant's  Memoirs;  the  Agamemnon  and  Choephorae 
are  too  suggestive  of  Hamlet,  for  a  critical  reader  to  accept  and 
swallow  so  sudden  a  change.  Tautology  is  a  ready  resource 
both  in  bulk  making  and  in  bookmaking,  but  if  the  philosophic 
historian  meant  one  thing  or  entity  by  the  term  thinking  public, 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  2^y 

and  another  thing  or  entity  by  the  term  hitman  mind  in  the 
connection  in  which  he  has  used  them,  he  might  have  con- 
ferred a  benefit,  at  least  a  favor,  on  his  readers  by  making  it 
manifest.  The  human  mind  wrought  and  reasoned  in  the  same 
way  and  with  the  same  kind  of  results,  when  it  was  register- 
ing its  ravings  on  Chaldean  clay,  as  while  it  is  pulsing  them 
from  continent  to  continent  in  currents  of  electricity. 

Change  is  one  of  the  deepest  subjects  of  intelligent  consider- 
ation in  all  cosmology.  Yet  in  simultaneous  events  wiseacres 
see  an  immediate  and  necessary  relation;  in  successive  events 
they  see  how  the  prior  necessarily  produce  the  posterior;  and 
attributing  general  results  to  specific  causes  is  their  favorite 
vocation.  They  appear  to  ignore  the  fact  that  causes  are 
themselves  results  of  prior  causes  which  in  turn  are  them- 
selves results  of  causes  still  prior.  From  the  complacent  assur- 
ance with  which  they  speak  of  causes  one  might  suppose  they 
had  discovered  absolutely  original  and  independent  cause.  All 
life,  growth,  and  development,  are  change;  the  most  durable 
existence  itself  is  change;  and  there  is  no  stability.  That 
which  is  generally  regarded  stability  is  merely  slow  change. 
The  atoms  of  stone  in  the  base  of  the  pyramids  will  sometime 
be  wanting  to  their  place,  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  they 
were  not  always  there.  Geology  implies  that  their  place  will 
itself  sometime  be  wanting,  because  it  was  not  always  there. 
Looking  back  as  far  as  fact  and  fancy  can  carry  us  we  are  con- 
tinuously confronted  with  a  scene  of  constant  change;  and  if 
there  is  any  feature  of  the  Cosmos  which  presents  any  appear- 
ance of  stability  of  nature  it  is  mind; — it  is  the  very  one  which 
the  learned  seem  generally  to  regard  the  most  mutable  of  them 
all.  The  fact  that  we  have  any  intelligence,  however  meager 
and  hov/ever  derived,  of  the  mind  of  remote  antiquity,  implies 
great  stability  of  the  nature  of  mind.  Otherwise  no  mental 
fact  of  such  antiquity  could  be  the  subject  matter  of  a  present 
cognition,  or  of  a  present  legitimate  deduction.  The  cunei- 
form inscription  on  the  Sarcophagi  of  Nineveh  could  have  no 
meaning  for  minds  in  nature  different  from  those  of  the  ones 
who  made  them. 

A  military  campaign  may  change  the  political  map  of  a  dis- 


2<y6  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

trict;  the  Cross  may  supplant  the  Joss,  or  the  Crescent  may 
supplant  the  Cross;  but  the  dura  mater  will  continue  to  contain 
the  usual  quantity  of  the  usual  quality  of  vesicular  and  tubular 
neurine,  which  will  continue  liable  to  be  affected  as  formerly 
by  similar  agencies.  Unless  the  course  of  Nature  should  sud- 
denly change,  which  is  not  likely  to  occur,  the  similar  agencies 
are  liable  to  operate,  producing  similar  states  of  mind,  or  giving 
the  same  kind  of  mind  the  occasion  to  demonstrate  that  it  is  of 
the  same  kind  as  the  former,  that  is  of  the  same  nature;  though 
possibly  modified  for  better  or  worse,  depending  upon  the 
kind  of  influences  to  which  it  may  have  been  exposed.  No 
matter  what  follows,  nor  how  different  the  result  from  what 
reasonably  might  have  been  and  perhaps  was  generally  expect- 
ed; nor  how  different  from  any  ever  before  known  to  have 
resulted  from  similar  causes;  the  literary  savant  at  once  pro- 
ceeds to  explain  how  and  why  it  could  not  have  been  other- 
wise, but  in  the  nature  of  things  must  have  been  so — to  formu- 
late a  philosophy  of  the  focts. 

Literature  is  the  chief  of  the  products  of  the  mind;  it  is  the 
mind's  continuously  culminating  culmination;  its  never  ending 
end.  They  are  growths,  developments,  progressions,  and  so 
far  are  themselves  subject  to  change.  But  they  have  never  been 
very  spasmodic  in  their  action  in  this  respect.  The  progress  of 
the  growth  and  development  of  mind,  can  be  marked  off  in 
periods  or  stages,  with  about  the  same  degree  of  propriety  as 
that  with  which  one  could  make  a  map  of  morality,  with  lati- 
tudes, longitudes,  altitudes,  and  coast  and  isothermal  lines. 
With  about  the  same  degree  of  propriety  one  may  attempt  to 
periodize  progress  in  intellectual  and  literary  attainment,  in 
definite  terminals,  and  attribute  shades  of  difference  in  form  of 
expression  and  habit  of  thought  in  the  alleged  different  periods, 
to  specific  physical  causes.  That  which  can  go  from  its  own 
center  into  the  depths  of  space  in  less  time  than  can  be  told 
would  seem  to  be  of  a  nature  rather  difficult  to  be  limited  spec- 
ifically by  physical  agencies.  While  mind  is  of  great  stability 
of  nature,  and  is  doubtless  subject  to  .some  mysterious  limita- 
tion in  nature;  yet  no  manifestations  have  ever  justified  the  be- 
lief that  it  or  its  great  product  can  be  appropriately  philosophiz- 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  2^7 

ed  upon  after  the  manner  in  which  //  deals  physical  phenomena. 
Yet  the  learned  have  done  so,  or  have  attempted  to  do  so,  and 
Literature  has  its  renaissances,  its  classic  ages,  its  restorations, 
revolutions,  histories,  and  philosophies;  and  one  of  its  most 
sc'holarly  and  elaborate  expositors,  in  presenting  his  contribu- 
tion to  the  world's  wisdom,  declares  his  intention  "to  write 
the  history  of  a  literature,  and  to  seek  in  it  for  the  psychology 
of  a  people." 

He  says,  "History  has  been  transformed,  within  a  hundred 
years  in  Germany,  within  sixty  years  in  France,  and  that  by 
the  study  of  their  literatures.  It  was  perceived  that  a  literary 
work  is  not  a  mere  individual  play  of  imagination,  the  isolated 
caprice  of  an  excited  brain,  but  a  transcript  of  contemporarv 
manners,  a  manifestation  of  a  certain  kind  of  mind,  it  was 
concluded  that  we  might  recover  from  the  monuments  of  liter- 
ature, a  knowledge  of  the  manner  in  which  men  thought  and 
felt  centuries  ago.  The  attempt  was  made  and  it  succeeded. 
Pondering  on  these  modes  of  feeling  and  thought,  men  decided 
that  they  were  facts  of  the  highest  kind.  They  saw  that  these 
facts  bore  reference  to  the  most  important  occurences,  that  they 
explained  and  were  explained  by  them,  that  it  was  necessary 
thenceforth  to  give  them  a  rank,  and  a  most  important  rank  in 
history.  This  rank  they  have  received,  and  from  that  moment 
history  has  undergone  a  complete  change;  in  its  subject  mat- 
ter, its  system,  its  machinery,  the  appreciation  of  laws  and 
causes,  it  is  this  change  such  as  it  is  and  must  be  that  we 
shall  endeavor  to  exhibit." 

The  purpose  of  the  philosophic  historian  was  to  write  a 
philosophic  history  of  a  recent  radical  revolution,  intellectual 
and  literary,  in  an  enterprise  of  such  proportions,  pretensions, 
and  promise,  the  writer  may  be  supposed  to  have  meant  speci- 
fically the  necessary  import  of  every  utterance  he  has  made — he 
has  the  burden  as  well  as  the  benefit  of  the  presumption  of 
good  faith.  Then  it  was  meant  by  some  of  the  above  quoted 
declarations  that  strange  discoveries  in  literature  were  recently 
made,  in  consequence  of  which  the  histories  mentioned  were 
completely  changed,  and  necessarily  in  a  certain  manner. 
Without  at  present  inquiring  into  the  actual  truth  of  the  matter. 


258  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

it  appears  that  if  the  change  was  such  as  it  was  known  it  must 
be,  it  would  scarcely  have  been  regarded  so  important  as  to 
become  the  chief  corner  stone  of  such  an  edifice  as  a  philosoph- 
ic history  of  English  Literature,  if  the  change  was  such  as  it 
must  be,  it  must  have  been  just  such  as  it  was;  it  could  not 
avoid  being,  nor  could  it  have  been  otherwise ;  but  in  the 
nature  of  things  was  inevitable,  and  inevitably  50.  This  could 
only  be  known  to  be  so,  by  having  long  been  observed  to  in- 
variably fall  out  so  under  like  circumstances ;  in  which  case  the 
change  and  the  circumstances  producing  it,  or  similar  ones, 
must  have  been  matters  with  which  the  observers  were  famil- 
iar. Both,  then,  would  be  mere  commonplace,  and  in  the 
change  there  could  be  no  more  of  interest  to  chronicle,  than  in 
the  circumstances  producing  it. 

Those  mentioned  as  the  causes  of  the  change,  the  philo- 
sophic history  of  which  is  so  introduced,  and  it  is  fair  to  pre- 
sume that  they  are  the  only  or  the  most  important  ones,  are  the 
discoveries, — that  a  literary  work  is  not  a  mere  individual  play 
of  imagination ;  and  the  manner  in  which  men  thought  and  felt 
centuries  ago;  and  the  giving  such  thought  and  feeling  import- 
ant rank  as  facts  in  history.  The  philosophic  historian  says 
these  things  occurred  and  produced  the  change  in  Germany 
within  the  last  century,  and  in  France  within  the  last  sixty 
years.  It  is  astonishing  that  these  countries  should  be  so  far  in 
the  rear  of  the  procession.  More  than  two  thousand  years 
before  then  the  "father  of  history"  at  Thurii,  the  home  of  his 
late  adoption,  had  told  the  world  how  Candaules,  King  01 
Sardis,  had  thought,  felt,  and  behaved ;  how  vain  he  was  of 
his  Queen's  tine  physique;  how  he  exposed  her  person  to  one 
of  his  personal  attendants  and  got  himself  killed  for  his  folly; 
how  the  Queen  would  not  endure  that  her  husband  and 
another  to  whom  he  had  so  exposed  her  should  both  live;  how 
Gyges  shrank  from  the  senseless  and  shameful  affair  until  the 
King  coerced  him  to  see  her;  how  discreetly  the  Queen  com- 
posed and  disposed  herself  when  she  saw  she  was  exposed 
until  she  could  compass  her  design;  how  Gyges  shrank  in 
horror  from  her  alternative,  to  die, — or  kill  the  King  and  take 
her;  how  she  made  it  imperative,   and    "having  given  him   a 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  2S9 

dagger,  concealed  him  behind  the  same  door"  behind  which 
the  King  had  so  recently  concealed  him  to  expose  her  person 
to  him.  This  is  a  veiy  vivid  representation  of  the  way  men 
thought  and  felt  centuries  ago.  And  Herodotus  is  full  of  them. 
Paris — having  abducted  Helen — is  driven  by  adverse  winds  into 
the  Canopic  mouth  of  the  Nile;  in  his  adversity  his  followers 
fall  away  from  him  as  rats  leave  a  sinking  ship,  and  accuse  him 
to  Governor  Thonis,  who  reports  to  King  Proteus  at  Memphis 
that  "a  stranger  of  Trojan  race  has  arrived  after  having  com- 
mitted a  nefarious  deed  in  Greece;  for  having  beguiled  the  wife 
of  his  own  host,  he  has  brought  her  with  him,  and  very  great 
treasure,  having  been  driven  by  winds  to  this  land.  Whether, 
then,  shall  we  allow  him  to  depart  unmolested  or  shall  we 
seize  what  he  has  brought  with  him  ?"  King  Proteus  prompt- 
ly responds,  "seize  this  man,  whoever  he  may  be,  that  1 
may  know  what  he  will  say  for  himself"  Paris  and  Helen  are 
sent  to  the  Court  at  Memphis,  Paris  is  questioned  by  the  King, 
accounts  for  himself  but  prevaricates  as  to  Helen  and  the  stolen 
treasure;  his  disaffected  retainers  accuse  and  convict  him. 
Hear  the  just  judgment  of  the  heathen  King,  giving  Paris  three 
days  in  which  to  get  out  of  the  Kingdom,  and  detaining  the 
truant  wife  and  stolen  treasure  for  their  rightful  lord  and  owner. 
Then  hear  the  historian  of  twenty-two  centuries  ago  criticise  a 
historical  epic  of  a  then  ancient  antiquity — "Homer  appears  to 
me  to  have  heard  this  relation  ;  but  it  is  not  equally  suited  to  epic 
poetry  as  the  other  which  he  has  made  use  of,  wherefore  he 
has  rejected  it,  though  he  has  plainly  shown  th;it  he  was 
acquainted  with  this  account  also."  More  than  twenty-two 
centuries  ago,  within  a  few  hundred  miles  of  Germany  and 
France,  Herodotus  clearly  saw  and  showed  how  men  thought 
and  felt  four  centuries  before  his  time;  not  only  this, — his  criti- 
cism of  poetry  would  do  credit  to  the  literature  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  showing  why  the  greatest  epic  poet  rejected  a 
well  authenticated  lact  in  the  construction  of  the  greatest  epic 
poem. 

So  this  process,  seeing  how  men  thought  and  felt  centuries 
ago,  and  giving  to  such  thought  and  feeling  important  rank  in 
history,  seems  to  have  been  going  on  as  long   as  the  centuries 


26o  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

have  been  going  on,  at  least  those  that  appear  in  history.  If 
the  recent  discovery  of  such  thought  and  feeling,  and  the 
receuilv  giving  them  important  rank  as  facts  in  history,  were 
the  only  cause  for  its  complete  change  which  the  philosophic 
historian  proposed  to  exhibit,  the  change  was  spontaneous,  or 
it  had  never  occurred.  If  entire  want  of  cause  is  absence  of 
effect,  there  was  no  such  recent  change,  and  the  basis  goes 
from  under  the  palatial  pile;  either  this,  or  the  locus  of  the 
history  so  changed  had  long  been  benighted. 

To  give  credence  to  groundless  assertion  and  weight  to 
frivolity,  writers  frequently  blend  therewith  some  palpable  truth 
and  proverbial  philosophy.  The  philosophic  historian  has  said, 
"It  is  better  to  have  an  imperfect  knowledge  than  none  at  all; 
and  there  is  no  other  means  of  acquainting  ourselves  approxi- 
mately with  the  events  of  other  days,  than  to  5^6'  approximately 
the  men  of  other  davs.  This  is  the  first  step  in  history ;  it  was 
made  in  Europe  at  the  revival  of  imagination,  toward  the  close 
of  the  last  century,  by  Lessing  and  Walter  Scott ;  a  little  later 
in  France,  by  Chataubriand,  Augustin  Thierry,  Michelet  and 
others.  And  now  for  tbe  second  step."  The  progress  of 
history  then  is  by  steps.  Suppose  we  step  back  a  few  centu- 
ies,  say  just  nineteen,  and  hear  Virgil  recite  to  Augustus  and 
Octavia  his  panegyric  on  Marcellus.  and  hear  the  Emperor  beg 
him  to  desist,  and  see  Octavia  faint  away  at  hearing  the  tribute 
to  the  memory  of  her  son. 


"No  youth  shall  equal  hopes  of  glory  give 
No  youth  afford  so  great  a  cause  to  grieve." 


Did  not  Virgil  see  approximately  men  of  other  days,  when  he 
exhibited  the  anguish  of  Dido  at  Aeneas'  perfidious  departure 
from  Carthage  more  than  ten  centuries  before  his  time  }  Does 
Walter  Scott  take  us  farther  back  of  his  own  time  }  Does  he 
show  us  more  clearly  how  men  thought  and  felt  }  Does  he 
give  such  thought  and  feeling  more  important  rank  as  facts  in 
history  }  Does  he  see  approximately  men  of  other  days  to  a 
better  historical  advantage }  Are  his  poetry  and  fiction  of 
greater  historical  consequence  than  those  of  Virgil  } 

In  presenting  a  history  of  English  Literature  or  indeed  any 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  26 1 

philosophy  to  a  reading  world,  and  placing  it  where  it  may 
fall  into  the  hands  of  some  of  the  thinkers,  if  a  reason  for  pre- 
senting it  should  be  essential,  it  is  no  less  essential  that  the 
reason  be  philosophically  sound  and  sufficient.  If  it  should  be 
stated  at  all  it  should  be  so  stated  as  to  bear  the  most  severe 
scrutiny.  Wholesale  and  sweeping  expressions  which  may 
mean  any  thing  or  nothing,  may  either  soothe  or  fatigue  the 
cursory  reader  out  of  the  specific  attention  necessary  to  sift 
them  for  their  substance,  and  he  may  not  ascertain  whether 
they  justify  the  importance  the  historian  gives  his  work.  Many 
of  the  great  literary  productions  appear  to  have  been  presented 
to  the  world  with  the  idea  that  the  causes  alleged  for  their 
being  presented  would  not  be  scrutinized  by  their  readers. 
And  it  is  fair  to  presume  that  the  work  itself  is  not  likely  to  rise 
much  superior  to  the  philosophic  reasons  alleged  for  its  per- 
formance. In  the  case  under  consideration  it  is  said,  as  already 
quoted,  "it  was  concluded  that  we  might  recover  from  the 
monuments  of  literature,  a  knowledge  of  the  manner  in  which 
men  thought  and  felt  centuries  ago.  The  attempt  was  made 
and  it  succeeded." 

This  is  the  base  of  a  very  aristocratic  and  authoritative  phil- 
osophic history  of  literature;  a  work  affecting  all  the  airs  of 
criticism,  and  proposing  to  find  a  psychology  of  a  people  as 
exhibited  in  their  literature.  When  was  it  concluded  that  such 
a  knowledge  could  be  so  obtained  ?  When  was  it  attempted, 
and  when  accomplished  ?  When  were  the  thought  and  feeling 
of  centuries  ago  given  their  important  rank  in  history.?  Ac- 
cording to  the  philosophic  historian  these  had  caused  a  recent 
transformation  of  history;  had  caused  it  to  undergo  "complete 
change;  in  its  subject  matter,  its  system,  its  machinery,  the  ap- 
preciation of  laws  and  causes."  1  have  shown  some  instances 
in  which  the  process  seems  to  have  been  going  on  more  than 
two  thousand  years  ago,  within  a  few  hundred  miles  of  the 
countries  whose  histories  the  philosophic  historian  says  were 
so  recently  and  radically  revolutionized  by  such  cause.  Such 
assertions,  closely  examined,  do  not  appear  to  have  been  writ- 
ten to  import  anything  in^  particular;  nor  any  tangible,  avail- 
able,   or  clearly  comprehensible  thing  in  general.     They   are 


262  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

vague  and  general  statements  of  nothing — to  the  purpose. 
While  data  for  the  specific  refutation  of  their  essential  import 
(if  they  have  such)  are  not  so  readily  available  or  self-suggestive 
but  that  they  may  seem  safe  to  a  casual  observer,  yet,  such 
high-sounding,  harmless  appearing  generalizations  are  not  so 
perfunctorily  passed  over  by  the  thinker.  Ifa  writer  introduces 
a  work  of  such  importance  as  a  history  of  English  Literature 
and  psychology  of  a  people,  with  the  assertion  of  certain  recent 
discoveries  and  consequent  complete  changes  in  intellect  and 
history  as  the  basis  of  the  work,  the  thinker,  supposing  things 
to  be  intended  as  they  are  expressed,  and  that  nothing  of  such 
apparent  importance  is  idly  said,  seeks  at  once  for  its  purport 
and  purpose.  If  these  are  not  apparent  or  easily  discernible, 
this  only  intensifies  his  zeal  in  the  int]uiry.  And  if  his  investi- 
gations result  as  is  found  unavoidable  in  the  present  instance 
he  cannot  have  a  very  tavorable  opinion  of  his  author.  If  he 
proceeds  nevertheless  to  peruse  the  philosophic  history,  it  will 
be  with  a  prejudice  imbibed  by  means  of  too  careful  attention 
to  the  emptv  and  aimless  assertion  of  its  writer. 

What  is  the  subject  matter  of  history,  that  it  was  not  before 
the  alleged  discoveries  ?  What  is  its  system,  its  machinery,  its 
appreciation  of  laws  and  causes,  that  they  were  not  before  ?  It 
is  simply  impossible  to  apply  any  of  those  assertions  of  complete 
change  to  any  tangible,  available,  or  conceivable  fact  in,  or 
phase  of  history  ;  while  passages  written  many  centuries  apart 
imply  that  no  such  change  had  taken  place.  Observe  two  such 
passages,  written  nineteen  hundred  years  apart,  both  translated 
from  foreign  languages  into  the  English  and  distinguish  them  by 
means  of  some  great  change  that  has  occurred  to  history  in 
consequence  of  the  discoveries  mentioned. — "  All  men,  without 
distinction,  are  allured  by  immediate  advantages  ;  great  minds 
alone  are  excited  by  distant  good.  So  long  as  wisdom  in  its 
projects  calculates  upon  wisdom,  or  relies  upon  its  own 
strength,  it  forms  none  but  chimerical  schemes,  and  runs  a  risk 
of  making  itself  the  laughter  of  the  v/orld  ;  but  it  is  certain  of 
success,  and  may  reckon  upon  aid  and  admiration  when  it  finds 
a  place  in  its  intellectual  plans  for  barbarism,  rapacity,  and 
superstition,  and  can  render  the  selfish  purposes  of  mankind  the 


CLASSIFICATION,    GFNERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  26^ 

executors  of  its  purposes."  And  again, — "  In  every  state,  they 
that  are  poor,  envy  those  that  are  of  a  better  class,  and  endeavor 
to  exalt  the  f^ictious  ;  they  dislike  the  established  condition  of 
things,  and  long  for  something  new  ;  they  are  discontented 
with  their  own  circumstances,  and  desire  a  general  alteration  ; 
they  can  support  themselves  amid  tumult  and  sedition,  with- 
out anxiety,  since  poverty  does  not  easily  suffer  loss." 

1  now  quote  one  sentence  from  the  philosophic  history  under 
consideration.  "If,  for  instance,  it  were  admitted  that  a  reli- 
gion is  a  metaphysical  poem,  accompanied  by  belief;  and  re- 
marking at  the  same  time  that  there  are  certain  epochs,  races, 
and  circumstances  in  which  belief,  the  poetical  and  metaphysi- 
cal faculty,  show  themselves  with  an  unwonted  vigor;  if  we 
consider  that  Christianity  and  Buddhism  were  produced  at 
periods  of  high  philosophical  conceptions,  and  amid  such  mis- 
eries as  raised  up  the  fanatics  of  Cevennes;  if  we  recognize,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  primitive  religions  are  born  at  the  awaken- 
ing of  human  reason,  during  the  richest  blossoming  of  human 
imagination,  at  a  time  of  the  fairest  artlessness  and  the  greatest 
credulity;  if  we  consider  also  that  Mohammedanism  appeared 
with  the  dawning  of  poetic  prose,  and  the  conception  of  national 
unity,  amongst  a  people  destitute  of  science,  at  a  period  of  sud- 
den development  of  intellect, — we  might  then  conclude  that  a 
religion  is  born,  declines,  is  reformed  and  transformed  accord- 
ing as  circumstances  confirm  and  combine  with  more  or  less 
exactitude  and  force  its  three  generative  instincts ;  and  we  should 
understand  why  it  is  endemic  in  India,  amidst  imaginative, 
philosophic,  eminently  fanatic  brains,  why  it  blossomed  forth 
so  strangely  and  grandly  in  the  middle  ages,  amidst  an  oppres- 
sive organization,  new  tongues  and  literatures;  why  it  was 
aioused  in  the  sixteenth  century  with  a  new  character  and 
heroic  enthusiasm,  and  universal  regeneration,  and  during  the 
awakening  of  the  German  races;  why  it  breaks  out  into  eccen- 
tric sects  amid  the  coarse  American  democracy,  and  under  the 
bureaucratic  Russian  despotism ;  why,  in  short,  it  is  spread,  at 
the  present  day,  over  Europe  in  such  different  dimensions  and 
such  various  characteristics,  according  to  the  difference  of  race 
and  civilization." 


264  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

This  is  perhaps  one  of  the  longest  sentences  to  be  found  in  any 
philosophic  history.  But  the  longer  the  period  the  more  room 
for  error,  and  in  the  above  there  is  scarcely  standing  room.  In 
what  sense  and  how  can  a  religion  be  regarded  a  metaphysical 
poem  ?  If  a  religion  is  really  a  religion,  validated  by  the 
divinity  of  its  origin  or  sanction,  without  which  it  is  a  mere 
superstition,  it  certainly  cannot  be  in  any  sense,  nor  to  any  ex- 
tent, metaphysical.  It  instantly  destroys  all  the  sanctity  of  a 
religion  to  make  it  appear  reasonable,  or  metaphysical.  It  at 
least  removes  all  its  divine  authenticity  and  supernatural  sanc- 
tion. No  human  mind  has  ever  existed  that  could  excogitate  a 
valid  reason  why  it  should  worship,  love,  or  fear,  anything  to 
sense  and  perception  intangible.  Such  minds  may  worship, 
love,  and  fear  some  imagined  thing  to  sense  and  perception  in- 
tangible, but  they  can  give  no  reason  therefor.  The  supposed 
thing  intangible  which  is  to  be  worshipped,  loved,  and  feared, 
must  first  be  created  by  the  imagination  of  the  worshiper,  or  it 
must  have  been  previously  created  and  presented  to  him  by  the 
imagination  of  others.  If  it  is  not  created  by  any  imagination, 
it  cannot  be  in  its  essence  intangible  to  sense  and  perception. 
The  Almighty  himself,  be  He  ever  so  far  beyond  the  scope  of 
our  senses  and  perceptions  may  have  existed  from  all  eternity, 
He  may  exist  without  having  ever  begun  to  exist;  and  it  might 
seem  irreverent  to  say  that  His  worshippers  first  create  Him  of 
their  imaginations,  or  that  He  is  created  and  presented  to  them 
by  other  imaginations.  But  what  else  is  done  .^  He  is  never 
directly  exhibited  or  declared  to  any  of  his  worshippers;  and  all 
the  indirect  exhibitions  and  declarations  of  Him  amount  to  noth- 
ing to  Man,  further  than  they  are  responded  to  in  his  belief. 
Hence  He  is  not  presented  to  any  of  his  worshippers  otherwise 
than  as  the  product  of  an  imagination ;  sense  and  perception 
not  being  exercised  in  the  mind's  response  to  the  exhibition  or 
declaration.  Then  /or  the  worshipper,  the  God  he  worships,  is 
necessarily  a  Creation  of  imagination.  It  may  be  of  his  own 
imagination,  or  of  his  own  prompted  and  assisted  by  that  of 
others. 

Take  the  three  religions  named  in  the  last  quotation,  and 
what  is  it  which  the  adherents  of  either  of  them  worship,  love, 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  26^ 

or  fear  ?  It  is  vigorously  maintained  for  their  several  founders, 
that  they  were  each  respectively  and  especially  commissioned 
from  on  high  to  establish  and  promulgate  the  one  only  true  reli- 
gion ;  and  that  all  others  are  spurious.  In  each  of  them  the 
Almighty  is  necessarily  a  Creation  of  imagination  to  every 
worshipper  to  whose  sense  and  perception  He  is  not  manifest, 
either  in  person,  or  by  means  of  phenomena  necessarily  and 
positively  proving  His  existence  and  reality  to  the  mind.  AH 
religions  rising  to  the  dignity  of  the  name,  enforce  the  worship, 
love,  and  fear  by  man,  of  something  to  his  sense  and  percep- 
tion intangible;  and  hence  to  the  mind  of  such  worshipper, 
purely  imaginary.  The  higher  the  grade  of  civilization  and 
mental  attainment  of  the  worshippers,  the  more  exquisitely  their 
imaginations  may  work,  and  the  finer  the  product  which  they 
may  produce  for  their  worship.  The  God  of  nineteenth  century 
Christianty  is  a  very  different  Being  to  the  Christian  imagination, 
from  the  God  of  their  Semitic  ancestors ;  the  God  that  directed 
the  butchery  of  babes,  and  that  the  priesthood  should  keep  the 
smell  of  burning  fiesh  constantly  ascending  to  Heaven  to  ap- 
pease his  righteous  wrath.  Yet  they  are  both,  to  their  wor- 
shippers, neither  more  nor  less  than  the  creations  of  their  imagi- 
nations, or  of  others'  imaginations  that  have  imagined  Him  for 
them,  and  presented  Him  to  them,  When  Jepthah  buried  the 
blade  in  the  bosom  of  his  daughter,  was  he  serving  the  God  of 
nineteenth  century  Christianity  .^  A  religion  may  be  a  poem 
accompanied  by  belief,  but  it  can  never  be  a  metaphysical  poem ; 
if  metaphysics  is  properly  defined  as  "the  science  conversant 
about  all  inferences  of  unknown  being  from  its  known  mani- 
festations." 

It  would  be  unprofitable  to  examine  and  analyze  each  of  the 
errors  in  the  quotation ;  so  after  cordially  expressing  the  thanks 
of  Americans  for  the  compliment  to  their  coarseness,  couched 
in  the  penultimate  clause  of  the  period;  I  shall  see  if  the  philo- 
sophic historian  has  not  himself  knocked  all  the  philosophy, 
latent  and  patent,  out  of  the  several  declarations  of  the  period. 

His  next  words  are,  "And  so  for  every  kind  oi  human  pro- 
duction— for  literature,  music,  the  fine  arts,  philosophy,  science, 
the  state,  industries,   and  the  rest.     Each  of  these  has  for  its 


266  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

direct  cause  a  moral  disposition,  or  a  combination  of  moral  dis- 
positions; the  cause  given,  they  appear;  the  cause  withdrawn, 
they  vanish ;  the  weakness  or  intensity  of  the  cause  measures 
their  weakness  or  intensity.  They  are  bound  up  with  their 
causes,  as  a  physical  phenomenon  with  its  condition,  as  dew 
with  the  fall  of  the  variable  temperature,  as  dilitation  with 
heat." 

So  religion  is  a  human  production,  directly  caused  by  a 
moral  disposition  or  combination  of  moral  dispositions.  It  is 
intense  or  weak  according  as  the  moral  disposition  causing  it  is 
intense  or  weak.  It  is  divested  of  everything  supernatural  and 
divine,  and  people  make  it  for  themselves  just  as  they  make 
their  literature,  their  tine  arts,  their  philosophy  and  science; 
their  state  and  industries.  This  would  throw  the  Lord  almost 
out  of  employment,  unless  He  may  participate  in  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  raw  material — the  moral  disposition. 

if  religion  has  such  relation  to  literature  as  to  make  it  an 
important  subject  of  consideration  in  such  history,  he  who 
classes  it  with  music,  art,  and  industry,  is  eminently  unqualified 
for  the  duties  of  a  philosophic  historian  of  literature.  If  it  has 
no  such  relation,  then  there  is  a  waste  of  force,  space,  and  time, 
in  the  learned  ignorance  exhibited  in  the  generalizations  in  which 
it  is  so  classified,  if  religion  is  a  mere  human  production, 
directly  caused  by  a  moral  disposition,  and  bound  up  with  such 
cause  as  a  physical  phenomenon  with  its  condition,  Omnipo- 
tence can  have  but  little  to  do  with  it.  It  may  then  be,  that 
"whatever  developes  credulity  side  by  side  with  a  poetic  con- 
ception of  the  world,  engenders  religion."  But  what  is  it  that 
developes  credulity,  the  disposition  to  believe  on  slight  evidence? 
The  philosophic  historian  has  just  remarked  that  Christianity 
and  Buddhism  were  produced  at  periods  of  high  philosophical 
conceptions,  amid  such  miseries  as  raised  up  the  fanatics  of  the 
Cevennes."  Is  it  possible  that  high  philosophical  conceptions 
develope  credulity.^  Does  misery  develope  a  poetical  conception 
of  the  world.^  And  are  these  the  agencies  that  engendered,  are 
they  the  moral  dispositions  which  caused  the  Christian  religion.^ 
it  may  be  a  well  grounded  philosophic  truism,  that  nothing  ever 
happens  without  cause.     But  it  is  equally  true  that  a  great  deal 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  267 

happens  without  comprehensible  cause;  without  cause  that  man 
can  comprehend. 

In  the  philosophic  history  under  consideration,  the  first  book 
is  entitled  The  Source,  and  its  first  chapter  is  entitled  The 
Saxons.  The  first  second  and  third  sectionsof  this  chapter  are 
devoted  to  an  exhibition  of  the  bloody  and  beastly  barbarism, 
(variegated  with  occasionally  improvised  scenes  of  superhuman 
sagacity,  heroism,  and  fortitude)  out  of  which  has  evolved  or 
grown  one  of  the  most  refined  and  elegant  civilizations  that  has 
yet  appeared.  The  data  for  the  representation  come  almost  ex- 
clusively from  the  Norse,  Scandinavian,  and  Saxon  legend.  The 
Fafnismal  Edda,  The  Niebeiungen  Lied,  The  Lay  of  Atli,  The 
Edda  of  S^emund,  etc.,  are  the  archives  from  which  it  is  prin- 
cipally obtained.  And  1  confess  my  disappointment  at  seeing 
no  allusion  to  Ossian.  There  is  occasional  reference  to  Tacitus, 
Turner,  Lingard,  and  others  of  their  kind,  but  not  for  the  pur- 
pose of  proving  the  abnormally  heroic  traits  of  character  of  our 
rude  and  nude  ancestors.  That  they  courageously  courted 
and  joyfully  suffered  death,  "that  there  is  no  fear  of  pain,  no 
care  for  life ;  that  they  count  it  as  dross  when  the  idea  has  seized 
upon  them,"  is  learned  from  the  legendary  lore  that  brands  itself 
with  its  own  falsity,  by  the  enormous  extravagance  in  which  it 
narrates  even  that  which  might  be  true.  For  instance — "Hogni 
laughed  when  to  his  heart  they  cut  the  living  crest-crasher;  no 
lament  uttered  he." 

Having  by  such  means  embellished  such  characters  with 
such  traits,  it  then  becomes  the  office  of  the  philosophic  his- 
torian, the  doctrinaire  of  moral  dispositions  as  specific  causes 
for  general  results,  to  trace  the  vestiges  of  such  traits  in  the  gen- 
eral character  of  their  descendants.  He  says,  "Carlyle  has  well 
said  that  in  the  sombre  obstinacy  of  an  English  laborer  still  sur- 
vives the  tacit  rage  of  the  Scandinavian  warrior.  Strife  for 
strife's  sake — such  is  their  pleasure.  With  what  sadness,  mad- 
ness, destruction,  such  a  disposition  breaks  its  bonds,  we  shall 
see  in  Shakespeare  and  Byron ;  with  what  vigor  and  purpose  it 
can  limit  and  employ  itself  when  possessed  by  moral  ideas,  we 
shall  see  in  the  case  of  the  Puritans." 

Carlyle  could  as  well  have  said  that  in  the  habitual  shrink- 


268  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

ing  from  obscene  exposures,  the  modesty  of  Shem  and  Japheth 
still  survives.  They  went  backwards  to  cover  their  drunken 
father's  nakedness,  and  their  descendants  to-day  instinctively 
shrink  from  such  scenes.  He  could  equally  as  well  have  said 
that  in  the  universal  covetousness  and  cupidity  of  the  Jews,  the 
insatiable  greed  of  Jacob  still  survives.  He  swindled  his  host, 
his  employer,  his  protector  and  father-in-law  out  of  his  proper- 
ty, and  his  descendants  are  to-day  grasping  all  that  they  can  get 
their  hands  on. 

If  the  vigor  and  purpose  of  the  Puritan  disposition  is  an  out- 
growth, modification,  or  transformation  of  the  tacit  rage  of  the 
Scandinavian  warrior,  to  what  warlike  trait  of  what  warlike 
people  shall  we  trace  the  resolute  martyr  spirit  of  the  Hugue- 
nots ?  the  suave  smile  and  ostentatious  humility  of  the  Quak- 
ers ?  or  the  blind  bigotry  and  superstitious  reverence  for  eccles- 
iastical authority  of  the  Catholics  ? 

The  philosophic  historian  adopts  Carlyle's  saying,  "with 
what  sadness,  madness,  destruction,  such  a  disposition  (the 
tacit  rage  of  the  Scandinavian  warrior)  breaks  its  bonds,  we 
shall  see  in  Shakespeare  and  Byron."  Wh^U  is  there  from 
Shakespeare  to  indicate  that  he  was  ever  possessed  of  or  domi- 
nated by  such  a  disposition  ?  Byron  has  raved  with  some  sad- 
ness, madness,  and  possibly  with  some  destruction,  but  I  find 
nothing  to  indicate  that  Shakespeare  ever  broke  the  bonds  of 
any  tacit  rage,  or  that  any  such  disposition  ever  broke  its  bonds 
in  him. 

He  gives  occasional  exhibitions  of  the  outbreak  of  passion,  but 
many  of  them  antedate  the  tacit  rage  of  the  Scandinavian  war- 
rior, and  none  of  them  indicate  any  more  relation  to  such  rage 
than  to  any  other  specimen  of  ill  nature  or  bad  temper  from 
antiquity. 

There  is  little  else  in  the  three  chapters  of  the  first  book  de- 
serving attention.  There  is  an  abundance  of  historical  fact,- — 
indeed  they  constitute  a  beautiful  historical  panorama.  But  the 
occasional  philosophic  generalization  will  not  bear  scrutiny. 
For  instance,  the  doubtful  compliment  to  Christianity  in  the  as- 
sertion, made  after  having  described  the  Saxons  as  a  race  of 
dull,  heavy,  coarse,  ferocious,  and  imaginative  gluttons, — that 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  269 

"a  race  so  constituted  was  predisposed  to  Christianity,  by  its 
gloom,  its  aversion  to  sensual  and  reckless  living,  its  inclination 
for  the  serious  and  the  sublime."  One  would  scarcely  expect 
a  dull,  heavy,  coarse,  and  ferocious  race  of  gluttons  to  be  very 
imaginative,  or  very  much  inclined  to  the  serious  and  sublime, 
or  very  averse  to  sensual  and  reckless  living. 

Who  is  the  author,  or  rather  inventor,  of  the  question — 
What's  in  a  name  ?  Why  did  the  philosophic  historian  call 
the  third  chapter  of  his  first  book  The  New  Tongue  ?  In  its 
beginning  he  says,  "throughout  the  long  impotence  of  Norman 
literature,  which  was  content  to  copy,  and  of  Saxon  literature 
which  bore  no  fruit,  a  definite  language  was  nevertheless 
formed."  This  is  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  all  there  is  in 
the  chapter,  which  even  hints  at  a  New  Tongue,  its  more 
than  twenty  pages  are  devoted  to  an  examination  of  Chaucer's 
writings,  and  there  are  frequent  allusions  to  and  comparisons 
with  his  continental  contemporaries,  and  a  wealth  of  metaphor, 
generalization,  and  tlorid  figure. 

Speaking  of  what  he  calls  the  pagan  renaissance  the  philo- 
sophic historian  says,  "for  seventeen  centuries  a  deep  and  sad 
thought  had  weighed  upon  the  spirit  of  man,  first  to  overwhelm 
it,  then  to  exalt  and  to  weaken  it,  never  losing  its  hold 
throughout  this  long  space  of  time.  It  was  the  idea  of  the 
weakness  and  decay  of  the  human  race.  Greek  corruption, 
Roman  oppression,  and  the  dissolution  of  the  ancient  world, 
had  given  rise  to  it;  it,  in  its  turn,  had  produced  a  stoical  resig- 
nation, an  epicurean  indifference,  Alexandrian  mysticism,  and 
the  Christian  hope  in  the  kingdom  of  God.  'The  world  is  evil 
and  lost,  let  us  escape  by  insensibility,  amazement,  ecstacy.' 
Thus  spoke  the  philosophers;  and  religion  coming  after,  an- 
nounced, that  the  end  was  near;  T^repare,  for  the  kingdom  of 
God  is  at  hand.'  For  a  thousand  years  universal  ruin  inces- 
santly drove  still  deeper  into  their  hearts  this  gloomy  thought; 
and  when  man  in  the  feudal  state  raised  himself,  by  sheer  force 
of  courage  and  muscles,  from  the  depths  of  final  imbecility  and 
general  misery,  he  discovered  his  thought  and  his  work  fetter- 
ed by  the  crushing  idea,  which,  forbidding  a  life  of  nature  and 


270  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

worldly  hopes,  erected  into  ideals  the  obedience   of  the  monk 
and  the  dreams  of  fanatics." 

The  whole  of  the  period  here  spoken  of  could  not  apply  to 
England,  for  it  had  only  been  known  to  civilization  for  a  little 
more  than  half  of  it.  It  necessarily  takes  us  back  and  relates  to 
the  Greek  and  Roman  civilizations,  prevalent  in  nearly  all  the 
countries  bordering  upon  the  Mediteranean,  and  which  have 
l^revailed  there  so  long  and  so  nearly  constant,  as  to  constitute 
what  might  appropriately  be  called  a  Mediteranean  civilization. 
Those  which  were  the  Egyptian  and  Phoenician  as  distinguish- 
ed from  the  Greek  and  Roman,  are  mere  memories  of  a 
remote  past;  and  the  Mongolian  or  Mussulman  has  not  obliter- 
ated the  Greek  and  Roman,  and  probably  never  will  do  so. 
Wherever  either  of  these  civilizations  has  prevailed  there  has 
been  a  literature,  and  these  long  drawn,  high-sounding,  gener- 
alizations are  very  misleading.  The  idea  of  the  weakness  and 
decay  of  the  human  race  constantly  weighing  upon  the  spirit  of 
man  for  seventeen  centuries  would  have  paralyzed  the  facial 
muscle  bevond  the  possibility  of  a  smile  forever  after.  It  would 
be  very  interesting  to  know  what  originated  and  so  universally 
promulgated  the  gloomy  idea,  as  well  as  when  it  obtained  un- 
iversal sway  over  the  spirit  of  man,  and  how  it  suppressed 
literature. 

Another  historian,  with  more  apparent  reasonableness,  and 
certainly  with  more  perspicuity  has  said,  "the  final  settlement 
of  barbarous  nations  in  Gaul  Spain  and  Italy  consummated  the 
ruin  of  literature.  Their  first  irruptions  were  uniformly  attend- 
ed with  devastation;  and  if  some  of  the  Gothic  kings,  after  their 
establishment,  proved  humane  and  civilized  sovereigns,  yet  the 
nation  gloried  in  its  original  rudeness,  and  viewed  with  no  un- 
reasonable disdain  arts  which  had  neither  preserved  their  culti- 
vators from  corruption  nor  raised  them  from  servitude.  ,  *  * 
Scarcely  one  of  the  barbarians,  so  long  as  they  continued  un- 
confused  with  the  native  inhabitants,  acquired  the  slightest 
tincture  of  letters;  and  the  praise  of  equal  ignorance  was  soon 
aspired  to  and  attained  by  the  entire  mass  of  the  Roman  laity. 
*  *  *  Latin  was  so  changed,  it  is  said  by  a  writer  of  Charle- 
magne's age,  that  scarcely  any  part  of  it  was  popularly  known. 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION,    AND    METAPHOR.  27 1 

*  *  *  When  Latin  had  thus  ceased  to  be  a  living  language, 
the  whole  treasury  of  knowledge  was  locked  up  from  the  eyes 
of  the  people.  The  few  who  might  have  imbibed  a  taste  for 
literature,  if  books  had  been  accessible  to  them,  were  reduced 
to  abandon  pursuits  that  could  only  be  cultivated  through  a 
kind  of  education  not  easily  within  their  reach.  Schools,  con- 
fined to  cathedrals  and  monasteries,  and  exclusively  designed 
for  the  purposes  of  religion,  afforded  no  encouragement  or  op- 
portunities to  the  laity.  The  worst  effect  was  that  the  newly 
formed  languages  were  hardly  made  use  of  in  writing.  Latin 
being  still  preserved  in  all  legal  instruments  and  public  corres- 
pondence, the  very  use  of  letters,  as  well  as  of  books  was  for- 
gotten. *  *  *  jf  j^  |3g  demanded  by  what  cause  it  happen- 
ed that  a  few  sparks  of  ancient  learning  survived  throughout 
this  long  winter,  we  can  only  ascribe  their  preservation  to  the 
establishment  of  Christianity.  Religion  alone  made  a  bridge, 
as  it  were,  across  the  chaos,  and  has  linked  the  two  periods  of 
ancient  and  modern  civilization." 

It  will  scarcely  be  contended  that  there  was  not  in  the  times 
of  Terrence,  Tacitus,  Cicero,  Seneca,  Sallust,  and  hosts  of 
others  that  could  be  named,  a  literature  equal  to  the  civilization 
then  prevailing,  and  that  it  did  not  extend  far  down  into  the 
seventeen  centuries  named  by  the  philosophic  historian.  It 
cannot  successfully  be  contended  that  it  was  in  any  manner 
affected  by  the  prevalence  of  any  sad  thought  of  the  weakness 
and  decay  of  the  human  race.  The  literature  was  stamped  out 
of  existence  for  a  time  by  the  barbarous  hordes  who  overran  the 
civilized  world,  and  overwhelmed  its  civilization.  And  as 
these  barbarians  gradually  adopted  the  manners  of  their  new 
subjects,  civilization  revived,  not  suddenly,  but  it  revived,  and 
and  literature  revived  with  it. 

Literary  developement  was  retarded  more  by  a  want  of 
mechanical  facilities  for  its  promotion,  especially  from  the 
seventh  to  the  twelfth  century,  during  which  time  papyrus 
could  not  be  obtained,  than  it  has  been  at  any  time  within 
seventeen  centuries  by  any  thing  like  a  gloom  of  the  human 
mind.  There  is  nothing  in  the  history  of  any  period,  to  indi- 
cate a  more  general  prevalence  of  sad  thought  than  is  indicated 


272  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

in  the  history  of  any  other  period.  We  cannot  get  back  to  a 
time  when  games,  amusements,  and  witticisms  were  not  as 
prevalent  and  popular,  proportionately,  as  they  have  ever 
been.  The  inundation  of  northern  barbarism  into,  and  its 
temporary  suppression  of  civilization,  had  a  mechanical  effect 
on  literature;  similar  to  that  of  the  burning  of  the  Alexandrian 
library.  And  all  the  learned  nonsense  about  a  universal  gloom 
prevailing  for  seventeen  centuries  that  can  be  imagined,  tells 
nothing  of  the  fate  or  philosophy  of  Literature. 

Speaking  of  this  so-called  pagan  renaissance,  the  philosoph- 
ic historian,  after  giving  a  glowing  account  of  the  grotesquely 
gorgeous  extravagance  in  personal  attire  and  in  architecture 
says,  "Folly  it  may  have  been,  but  poetry  likewise.  There 
was  something  more  than  puppyism  in  this  mascjuerade  of 
splendid  costume.  The  overflow  of  inner  sentiment  found  this 
issue,  as  also  in  drama  and  poetry."  Such  things  seriously 
said  by  a  philosopher,  are  supposed  to  have  some  significance. 
In  this  instance,  what  is  it  ?  What  inner  sentiment  was  it,  the 
overflow  of  which  found  issue  in  extravagant  architectural  orn- 
amentation ?  Was  it  akin  to  that,  the  overflow  of  which  found 
issue  in  the  gold  decorations  of  the  temple  of  the  Sun  at  Cuzco? 
or  in  the  embellishment  of  the  cathedral  at  Cologne  ?  or  the 
residence  of  Nebuchadnezzar  at  Babylon  ?  or  any  fashionable 
private  residence  of  the  tenth  century  at  Venice  or  Nuremburg  ? 
Is  it  likelv  that  this  extravagant  architectural  ornamentation  had 
a  literary  significance  in  England  during  the  Elizabethan  era, 
and  had  no  such  significance  in  other  countries  and  ages  where 
this  has  been  so  completely  eclipsed  ?  If  not,  what  literary 
significance  has  it  had  in  the  other  places  named  .^  In  short 
what  business  can  such  allusion  have  in  a  philosophic  history 
of  any  literature  ?  Some  savages  decorate  their  persons  to 
deformity.  Others,  equally,  but  no  less  degraded,  decorate 
themselves  very  little.  Paris  may  be  the  mistress  of  fashion, 
but  in  literature  and  philosophy,  how  does  it  compare  with 
Berlin  or  Boston  ? 

Generalization  is  the  filmy  subterfuge  frequently  resorted  to 
in  order  to  avoid  contradiction.  Yet  when  analyzed  the  fraud 
is  easily  detected,  and  contradiction  itself  may  be  discovered. 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  273 

It  is  SO  dangerous  an  expedient  that  it  is  really  surprising  that 
any  one  of  great  learning  should  ever  resort  to  it.  In  the  philo- 
sophic historian's  description  of,  or  rather  dissertation  upon, 
what  he  calls  the  pagan  renaissance,  he  attributes  an  alleged 
revival  of  spirits  to  an  alleged  re-establishment,  or  perhaps  in- 
troduction, of  paganism  in  England  about  the  close  of  what  he 
calls  the  middle  age.  He  says,  "After  the  terrible  night  of  the 
middle  age,  and  the  dolorous  legends  of  spirits  and  the  damned, 
it  was  a  delight  to  see  again  Olympus  shining  upon  us  from 
Greece;  its  heroic  and  beautiful  deities  once  more  ravishing  the 
hearts  of  men ;  they  raised  and  instructed  this  young  world  by 
speaking  to  it  the  language  of  passion  and  genius;  and  this  age 
of  strong  deeds,  free  sensuality,  bold  invention,  had  only  to 
follow  its  own  bent,  in  order  to  discover  in  them  its  masters 
and  the  eternal  promoters  of  liberty  and  beauty." 

Within  two  pages  of  this  figurative  flight,  and  speaking  of 
the  same  period  he  says,  "A  disenchantment,  a  sad  or  bitter 
dreaminess,  an  innate  consciousness  of  the  vanity  of  human 
things,  are  never  lacking  in  this  country  and  in  this  race;  the 
inhabitants  support  life  with  difficulty,  and  know  how  to  speak 
of  death.  Surrey's  finest  verses  bear  witness  thus  soon  to  his 
serious  bent,  this  instinctive  and  grave  philosophy." 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  a  writer  could  be  more  dis- 
cordant, or  more  inconsistent  with  himself  In  the  first  of 
these  passages  he  has  English  Intellect  shaking  off  the  sad 
thought  of  human  weakness  and  decay  which  had  crushed  it 
for  seventeen  centuries,  English  hearts  were  being  ravished  by 
the  heroic  and  beautiful  Olympic  deities  from  Greece,  and  they 
were  raising  and  instructing  this  young  world  in  the  language 
of  passion  and  genius ;  and  this  age  ot  free  sensuality,  bold  in- 
vention, had  only  to  follow  its  own  bent  in  order  to  discover 
in  them  (strong  deeds,  free  sensuality,  and  bold  invention;  or, 
the  heroic  and  beautiful  Olympic  deities  from  Greece  })  its 
masters  and  the  eternal  promoters  of  liberty  and  beauty. 

In  the  second  of  these  passages  he  has  this  same  English 
Intellect  of  the  same  period,  indeed  at  all  times,  sternly  disen- 
chanted, bowed  by  a  sad  or  bitter  dreaminess,  an  innate  con- 
sciousness of  the  vanity  of  human  things;  supporting  life  with 


274  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

difficulty,  speaking  flimiliarly  of  death;  and  the  finest  verses  oi 
its  principal  poet  bearing  witness  to  his  serious  bent,  this  in- 
stinctive and  grave  philosophy. 

Philosophers  are  supposed  to  mean  what  they  say.  in  their 
philosophies.  We  have  no  right  to  assume  that  the  philo- 
sophic historian  meant  less  than  he  has  said  in  these  two  pass- 
ages. And  it  cannot  be  assumed  that  they  were  intended  to 
apply  to  different  periods,  because  they  are  plainly  applied  to 
one  period.  Yet  they  flatly  contradict  each  other,  and  neither 
of  them  means  anything  to  the  purpose  in  a  philosophic  history 
of  a  literature.  If  the  mind  of  man  had  been  constantly  bowed 
beneath  the  sad  thought  of  human  weakness  and  decay  for 
seventeen  centuries,  it  would  show  great  elasticity  if  that  period 
should  be  immediately  followed  by  an  age  of  strong  deeds, 
free  sensuality,  bold  invention,  which  had  only  to  follow  its 
own  bent  in  order  to  discover  in  the  heroic  and  beautiful 
Olympic  deities  from  Greece,  or  in  its  own  free  sensuality  and 
bold  invention,  its  masters  and  the  eternal  promoters  of  liberty 
and  beauty.  And  by  the  way,  which  was  it,  the  heroic  and 
beautiful  Olympic  deities  from  Greece,  or  the  free  sensuality 
and  bold  invention  of  the  age,  that  were  the  masters  of  the  age 
and  the  eternal  promoters  of  liberty  and  beauty  ?  And  how 
could  either,  or  any,  or  all  of  them  be  the  eternal  promoters  of 
liberty  and  beautv  ?  If  the  heroic  and  beautiful  Olympic  deities 
from  Greece  raised  and  instructed  this  young  world  by  speaking 
to  it  the  language  of  passion,  they  took  a  strange  course  to 
elevate  the  human  mind.  If  the  elevation  resulted  in  produc- 
ing an  age  of  free  sensuality,  it  was  a  strange  sort  of  intellect- 
ual elevation. 

It  seems  to  have  been  the  nightmare  of  the  philosophic  his- 
torian of  English  Literature,  that  there  was  radical  change  in 
man,  especially  in  the  mind  of  man,  about  the  close  of  the 
alleged  middle  age.  In  most  instances  where  he  has  said  any- 
thing specific  and  intended  to  sustain  any  philosophic  propos- 
ition, it  either  asserts,  or  implies  the  actuality  of  such  change. 
"Often,  after  reading  the  poets  of  this  age,  I  have  looked  for 
some  time  at  the  contemporary  prints  telling  myself  that  man, 
in  mind  and  body,  was  not  then  such  as  we  see  him  to-day. 


J 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  275 

We  also  have  our  passions,  but  we  are  no  longer  strong 
enough  to  bear  them.  They  unsettle  us;  we  are  no  longer 
poets  without  suffering  from  it.  Alfred  de  Musset,  Heine, 
Edgar  Poe,  Burns,  Byron,  Shelley,  Cowper,  how  many  shall  I 
instance  ?  Disgust,  mental  and  bodily  degradation,  disease, 
impotence,  madness,  suicide,  at  best  a  permanent  hallucination 
or  feverish  raving, — these  are  nowadays  the  ordinary  issues  of 
the  poetic  temperament.  The  passion  of  the  brain  gnaws  our 
vitals,  dries  up  the  blood,  eats  into  the  marrow,  shakes  us  like 
a  tempest,  and  the  human  frame,  such  as  civilization  has  made 
us,  is  not  substantial  enough  long  to  resist  it.  They  who  have 
been  more  roughly  trained,  who  are  more  inured  to  the  in- 
clemencies of  climate,  more  hardened  by  bodily  exercises,  more 
firm  against  danger,  endure  and  live." 

This  passage  condemns  itself  for  untruthfulness,  and  folly.  It 
is  absurd  to  rank  Byron,  Shelley,  and  Poe,  with  Cowper  and 
Burns,  in  any  respect.  Except  that  they  were  men  and  wrote 
poetry,  there  is  nothing  in  common  between  any  two  of  them.- 
Shelley  and  Poe  are  the  only  ones  among  them  who  can  be 
regarded  the  untimely  victims  of  a  murderous  Muse.  Cowper's 
Task,  and  the  Olney  Hymns  would  scarcely  restrict  him  to  the 
rank  of  the  author  of  the  Raven  and  The  Poetic  Principle.  If 
men's  writings  were  reliable  indications  of  their  feelings,  and 
in  many  places  the  philosophic  historian  says  they  are,  there 
have  been  few  persons  more  serenely  happy  than  Cowper,  and 
as  he  lived  to  the  mature  age  of  sixty-eight  years,  and  five 
months  he  cannot  be  regarded  a  very  early  victim  of  the  rav- 
ages of  the  poetic  temperament.  He  has  himself  said,  "Dejec- 
tion of  spirits,  which  may  have  prevented  many  a  man  from 
becoming  an  author,  made  me  one.  1  find  constant  employ- 
ment necessary,  and  therefore  take  care  to  be  constantly  em- 
ployed. When  1  can  find  no  other  occupation,  1  think;  and 
when  1  think,  1  am  very  apt  to  do  it  in  rhyme."  He  had  been 
crossed  in  love,  and  while  this  did  not  suddenly  do  so,  there  is 
good  reason  to  believe  that  it  eventually  made  him  melancholy; 
and  this  melancholy,  according  to  his  own  words,  intensified 
his  poetic  temperament,  instead  of  his  poetic  temperament  find- 
ing issue  in  it.     If  one  will  write  history  it  costs  so  little  to  get 


276  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE, 

the  truth  that  he  is  inexcusable  if  he  even  hints  that  which  is 
really  untrue.  To  say  that  the  poetic  temperament  fmds  issue 
in  disgust,  mental  and  bodily  degradation,  madness,  disease,  im- 
potence, suicide,  and  a  permanent  hallucination  or  feverish 
raving,  because  some  poets  have  shown  symptoms  of  such  mala- 
dies, is  fairly  equivalent  to  saying  that  the  kingly  tempera- 
ment finds  issue  in  epilepsy  or  apoplexy  because  Julius  Caesar 
and  Charles  the  Second  had  fits. 

It  is  equally  as  absurd  to  say  that  we  are  no  longer  strong 
enough  to  bear  our  passions.  It  busied  the  deadly  poetic 
temperament  seventy-five  years  to  get  Longfellow,  seventy- 
three  years  to  get  Whitman,  sixty-one  years  to  get  Coleridge, 
sixty-one  years  to  get  Willis,  eighty-five  years  to  get  Whittier, 
eighty-four  years  to  get  Tennyson,  sixty-nine  years  to  get 
Southey,  seventy-three  years  to  get  Wordsworth,  eighty-four 
years  aided  by  a  physical  accident  to  get  Bryant;  and  it  has 
been  after  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  for  eighty-three  years  and  he 
still  lives.*  Then  think  of  Pope, — the  deformity,  the  enormity, 
the  inspired  invalid,  whose  fifty-six  years  were  one  round  of 
wretchedness,  one  long  protracted  disease.  It  would  be  equal- 
ly as  philosophic  to  say  that  his  poetic  temperament  caused 
him  to  be  born  hunch-backed  as  to  say  that  it  had  hastened 
his  death.  It  is  true  that  Shelley  and  Poe  had  stormy  passions 
and  weird  imagination,  and  that  they  both  died  young.  But 
one  was  accidentally  drowned,  and  the  other,  after  a  terrible 
debauch,  was  drugged  in  his  drinks.  Keats  died  at  the  early 
age  of  twenty-five,  and  his  writings  betoken  strong  passion 
and  ethereal  imagination.  But  there  is  no  reason  to  believe 
that  he  was  physically  inadequate  to  bear  all  the  mental  throes 
which  his  writings  imply  that  he  was  rent  with.  The  truth  is, 
men's  writings  are  not  very  reliable  indexes  to  their  feelings. 
Cowper  wrote  his  most  humorous  pieces,  when  he  was  most 
dejected  and  cast  down  with  his  final  malady — despondency. 
James  Montgomery  wrote  his  finest  flashes  of  wit  and  humor 
during  and  describing  his  own  imprisonment. 

Suppose  we  take  the  philosophic  historian's  proposition  for 
all  that  he  appears  to  intend  by  it — that  the  writings  of  certain 
*Dr.  Holmes  died  while  this  work  was  in  press. 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND    METAPHOR.  277 

persons  at  certain  periods,  imply  the  existence  and  prevalence 
of  certain  frames  or  forms  or  kinds  of  mind ;  and  we  are  then 
not  advanced  an  iota  in  the  direction  of  any  definite  psycholog- 
ical result.  It  is  fashionable  to  seem  to  know  and  to  have  a 
good  deal  to  say  about  Shakespeare;  and  he  is  one  of  the  most 
conspicuous  figures  in  the  philosophic  history  of  English  Liter- 
ature. But  the  philosophic  historian  would  find  it  troublesome 
to  establish  that  his  writings  imply  the  existence  and  preval- 
ence of  any  particular  frame  or  form  or  kind  of  mind  in  Shake- 
peare's  era.  With  the  exception  ot  the  unaccountable 
anachronism  relating  to  Aristotle,  the  general  sentiment  of  the 
Troilus  and  Cressida  is  as  well  adapted  to  the  Trojan  era,  as 
that  of  Euripides'  Andromache;  or,  as  that  of  Aristophanes' 
Frogs  is  to  the  alleged  decline  of  Greek  tragedy.  There  is  no 
keener  wit  in  any  thing  written,  than  that  in  the  interview  be- 
tween Falstaff  and  the  Chief  Justice  in  the  second  scene  in  the 
first  act  in  King  Henry  Fourth,  part  two.  But  as  literature  is 
already  deluged  with  dissertations  on  the  writings  of  Shakes- 
peare, it  must  suffice  here  to  say,  that  they  do  not  imply  the 
existence  or  prevalence  at  any  particular  time  of  any  particular 
frame,  or  form,  or  kind  of  mind.  But  that  like  the  writings  of 
many  others,  contemporaneous  and  earlier  and  later,  they  do 
imply  the  existence  and  prevalence  of  many  frames  and  forms 
and  kinds  of  mind  at  all  times  to  which  they  relate.  Any 
observer  in  crowded  life  may  notice  reproductions  of  many  of 
his  characters  almost  daily.  Of  course  he  has  painted  them 
more  vividly  than  we  could  ever  have  conceived  them  without 
having  read  him ;  but  that  is  simply  because  his  power  to  por- 
tray is  so  far  above  our  power  to  perceive.  The  dark  destruc- 
tive rage  of  jealously  was  never  so  terribly  exhibited  as  in 
Othello;  graceless  and  gratuitous  diabolism  was  never  so  cow- 
ardly and  cruel  as  in  lago.  No  one  can  define  the  character  of 
Falstaff.  It  smacks  somewhat  of  assurance  to  attempt  to 
define  any  of  Shakespeare's  important  characters  or  eulogize 
his  representations  of  them. 

It  would  be  idle  to  trace  the  course  of  the  alleged  history  of 
English  Literature  further,  to  ascertain  if  its  philosophic  writer 
discovered  in  it  the  psychology  of  a  people.     In  the  very  nature 


278  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

of  mind  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  a  defined  and  ascertain- 
ed psychology  of  a  people;  and  all  efforts  to  find  such  thing  in 
or  deduce  it  from  the  literature  of  a  people,  must  result  in 
groundless,  aimless,  and  senseless  generalization;  in  which 
there  can  be  nothing  tangible,  definite,  or  reliable.  Having 
examined  the  basis  of  the  undertaking,  and  discovered  that 
every  thing  therein  which  rises  to  the  importance  of  statement 
of  literary  fact,  or  of  deduction  from  such  fact,  is  mere  gen- 
eralization which  will  not  bear  analysis,  it  were  a  needless 
expenditure  of  time  and  toil  to  give  the  work  an  exhaustive 
study.  No  structure  erected  on  such  a  basis  can  have  any 
solidity.  Anecdotes  in  the  lives  of  authors  (asof  other  persons) 
may  be  interesting  or  amusing  as  facts.  But  they  have  no 
more  significance  in  a  literature,  or  in  a  psychology  to  be 
found  in  or  deduced  from  a  literature,  than  the  fact  that  Benja- 
min Franklin  was  munching  a  bread-crust  in  front  of  her 
father's  house  when  he  saw  and  fell  in  love  with  Deborah 
Read,  had  in  developing  the  scientific  manipulation  of  electricity. 
I  have  read  the  Lives  of  the  Philosophers  of  Diogenes  Laertius 
with  great  interest,  and  am  frequently  amused  with  its  anec- 
dotes; but  such  things  signify  nothing  or  next  to  nothing  in  a 
philosophic  history  of  a  literature,  and  they  certainly  can  have 
no  meaning  for  any  thing  which  in  the  very  nature  of  things 
cannot  itself  be.  Nevertheless,  1  have  carefully  studied  the 
alleged  history,  and  am  constrained  to  say  that  it  proceeds 
very  much  as  it  is  now  shown  to  have  begun,  in  arbitrary 
classification,  in  indefinite  and  unmeaning  generalization,  and 
in  very  figurative  metaphor;  the  monotonous  repetition  of 
which  is  diversified  as  hitherto  by  frequent  groundless  state- 
ment, untenable  deduction,  and  occasional  contradiction.  In 
reply  to  the  assertion  that  the  thinking  public  and  the  human 
mind  had  changed  in  consequence  of  certain  alleged  discoveries 
in  intellect  and  literature,  it  may  be  sufficient  to  suggest  to  the 
learned  reader  a  comparison  of  Juvenal's  Satires  with  the  letters 
of  Junius,  and  of  the  sentiment  of  the  Satires  of  Horace  with 
that  of  Burns'  Holy  Willie's  Prayer,  and  the  paintings  of 
Hogarth,  and  the  caricatures  of  Nast. 

Exalting  the  ethereal  imagery  of  Spenser,  as  exemplified  in 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION,    AND    METAPHOR.  279 

The  Faery  Queen,  almost  above  the  conception  of  mortal  minds, 
the  philosophic  historian  says,  "What  world  could  furnish 
materials  to  so  elevated  a  fancy  ?  One  only,  that  of  chivalry; 
for  none  is  so  far  from  the  actual."  The  Faery  Queen,  Spenser's 
masterpiece,  was  written  in  the  times  of  Raleigh,  Sidney,  and 
Leicester,  which  may  have  been  pre-eminently  an  age  of  chi- 
valry, as  we  are  informed  that  Raleigh  spread  his  cloak  in  the 
mud  for  his  royal  mistress — at  least  Leicester's  mistress  and  the 
judicial  murderess  of  her  more  royal  cousin — to  walk  upon. 
More  than  three  hundred  years  thereafter  Keats  wrote  the  En- 
dymion.  It  will  scarcely  be  claimed  that  this  was  an  age  of 
chivalry;  as  Washington,  Wayne,  Paul  Jones,  Francis  Marion, 
and  Andrew  Jackson  had  given  mankind  some  very  convincing 
argument  that  the  world  of  chivalry  was  indeed  very  far  from 
the  actual.  But  something  seems  to  have  furnished  material  to 
Keats'  fancy  in  1817  as  exemplified  in  the  Endymion;  and 
later  to  Willis' fancy  as  exemplified  in  his  Parrhasius;  and  to 
Shelley's  fancy  as  exemplified  in  The  Revolt  of  Islam.  If  any  of 
these  are  not  so  elevated  as  that  of  Spenser,  I  must  confess  my 
ignorance  of  the  signification  of  the  term  elevation.  Different 
fancies,  or  the  fancies  of  different  poets,  may  be  nearer  the 
same  dizzy  height  than  of  the  same  diny  kind  or  quality.  If 
extravagance  is  fancy,  then  Gulliver's  Travels  and  Baron  Mun- 
chausen's Campaigns  indicate  a  more  loftily  elevated  fancy  than 
that  of  the  poets.  I  am  not  objecting  to  the  altitude  of  Spen- 
ser's fancy  as  exemplified  in  the  Faery  Queen,  nor  to  the 
exalted  merit  of  the  poem  itself  But  I  insist  that  no  chivalry, 
nor  any  thought  of  such  thing  was  requisite  to  furnish  material 
to  his  fancy,  nor  to  that  of  any  other  poet  or  person.  The 
assertion  of  the  philosophic  historian  is  an  empty,  aimless, 
high-sounding  generalization  without  meaning. 

In  speaking  of  what  he  seems  to  regard  the  exaggerated 
imagination  of  a  feudal  hero,  and  attributing  it  to  some  occult 
influence  of  the  feudal  system,  the  philosophic  historian  gives 
us  a  specimen  of  his  own  no  less  exaggerated,  as  well  as  figur- 
ative and  unmeaning  metaphor.  Of  the  feudal  hero  he  says, 
"For  want  of  useful  employment  and  an  accepted  rule,  his 
brain  had  labored  on  an  unreasoning  and  impossible  track,  and 


280  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

the  urgency  of  his  wearisomeness  had  increased  beyond  meas- 
ure his  craving  for  excitement.  Under  this  stimulus  his  poetry 
had  become  a  world  of  imagery.  Insensibly  strange  concep- 
tions had  grown  and  multiplied  in  his  brains,  one  over  the 
other  like  ivy  woven  around  a  tree,  and  the  original  trunk  had 
disappeared  beneath  their  rank  growth  and  obstruction.  The 
delicate  fancies  of  the  old  Welsh  poets,  the  grand  ruins  of  the 
German  epics,  the  marvellous  splendors  of  the  conquered  east, 
all  the  recollections  which  four  centuries  of  adventure  had 
scattered  among  the  minds  of  men  had  become  gathered  into 
one  great  dream;  and  giants,  dwarfs,  monsters,  the  whole 
medley  of  imaginary  creatures,  of  superhuman  exploits  and 
splendid  follies,  were  grouped  around  an  unique  conception, 
exalted  and  sublin-'e  love,  like  courtiers  prostrated  at  the  feet  of 
their  king." 

This  is  bravely  done,  but  what  is  meant  by  it  ?  It  seems 
to  imply  that  until  the  feudal  hero  was  stimulated  by  his  weari- 
someness into  the  craving  for  excitement,  his  poetry  had  been 
something  other  than  a  world  of  imagery.  We  are  not  told 
what  it  was,  nor  indeed  what  kind  of  poetry  there  could  be 
outside  the  world  of  imagery.  If  imagery  is  abstracted  from 
poetry,  or  if  poetry  is  constructed  without  imagery,  it  is  not 
likely  to  be  very  poetical.  It  may  jingle  and  rhyme,  it  may 
proceed  with  a  stately  and  a  measured  tread,  but  it  will  not  be 
poetry.  I  know  of  no  sillier  simile  than  that  in  which  the 
philosophic  historian  as  above  quoted  says,  that  "giants, 
dwarfs,  monsters,  the  whole  medley  of  imaginary  creatures,  of 
superhuman  exploits  and  splendid  follies,  were  grouped  around 
an  unique  conception,  exalted  and  sublime  love,  like  courtiers 
prostrate  at  the  feet  of  their  King."  It  requires  a  more  fantasti- 
cal fancy  than  poetry  can  utilize,  to  imagine  the  giants,  etc., 
grouping  themselves  around  an  unique  conception,  exalted  and 
sublime  love,  like  courtiers  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  their  King. 
The  idea  is  too  figurative  to  be  really  an  idea,  it  is  an  unintelli- 
gible and  meaningless  figure  of  speech,  too  airy  even  for  a  re- 
spectable chimera.  Of  course  one  can  perfunctorily  read  the 
passage,  and  by  hastening  on  to  something  else  and  forgetting 
what  it  says,  he  can  avoid  the  chagrin  and  disappointment 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  28 1 

usually  incident  to  a  discovery  of  the  insipid  emptiness  of 
high-sounding  and  superbly  wrought  literary  phrase.  But  I 
do  not  understand  that  books,  or  any  part  of  them,  are  written 
for  sound  and  figure;  and  especially  those  assuming  the  dignity 
of  philosophic  history  and  criticism.  It  takes  time  and  toil  to 
write  them,  and  on  principles  of  economy  no  more  should  be 
written  than  is  necessary  to  clearly  express  intelligible  ideas  de- 
serving their  readers'  attention.  It  takes  time,  toil,  and  atten- 
tion to  study  them,  and  on  principles  of  economy  no  more 
should  be  WTitten  and  presented  for  the  employment  of  the 
reader's  energies  than  is  necessary  to  clearly  impart  to  him  the 
'idea  intended  for,  and  calculated  to  promote,  his  edification  in 
some  way.  A  book  that  is  not  so  intended  and  calculated,  is 
a  graceless  imposition  upon  the  tolerance  of  a  reading  world; 
and  the  more  superbly  it  is  wrought  the  baser  the  imposture 
on  the  credulity  of  the  great  masses  of  readers  who  habitually 
adopt  the  thought  of  their  authors  where  they  comprehend  it, 
and  imagine  that  all  they  do  not  comprehend  is  too  profound 
for  their  comprehension. 

Incredulity  may  itself  become  grotesquely  absurd,  still  the 
true  way  to  read  is  to'  read  skeptically — at  least  thoughtfully. 
Intellectual  slavery  is  more  degrading  than  physical,  and  the 
reader  should  do  his  own  thinking,  especially  when  his  author 
propounds  some  apparently  deep  proposition  in  philosophy,  or 
makes  some  startling  announcement  of  alleged  literary  fact,  or 
when  he  blends  and  confuses  the  two  as  in  the  following: — 
"That  which  had  struck  men  on  escaping  from  ecclesiastical 
oppression  and  monkish  asceticism  was  the  pagan  idea  of  a  life 
true  to  nature,  and  freely  developed.  They  had  found  nature 
buried  behind  scholasticism,  and  they  had  expressed  it  in  poems 
and  paintings;  in  Italy  by  superb  healthy  corporeality,  in 
England  by  vehement  and  unconventional  spirituality,  with 
such  divination  of  its  laws,  instincts  and  forms,  that  we  might 
extract  from  their  theatre  and  their  pictures  a  complete  theory 
of  soul  and  body.  When  enthusiasm  is  past,  curiosity  be- 
gins. The  sentiment  of  beauty  gives  way  to  the  need  of  truth. 
The  theory  contained  in  works  of  imagination  frees  itself.  The 
gaze  continues  fixed  on  nature,  not  to  admire  now,  but  to  un- 


2S2  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

derstand.  From  painting  we  pass  to  anatomy,  from  the  drama 
to  moral  phiiosopiiy,  from  grand  poetical  divinations  to  great 
scientific  views;  the  second  continues  the  first,  and  the  same 
mind  displays  itself  in  both;  for  what  art  had  represented,  and 
science  proceeds  to  observe,  are  living  things,  with  their  com- 
plex and  complete  structure,  set  in  motion  by  their  internal 
forces,  with  no  supernatural  intervention.  Artists  and  savants, 
all  set  out,  without  knowing  it  themselves,  from  the  same 
master  conception,  to-wit,  that  nature  subsists  of  herself  that 
every  existence  has  in  its  own  womb  the  source  of  its  action, 
that  the  causes  of  events  are  the  innate  laws  of  things;  an  all 
powerful  idea,  from  which  was  to  issue  the  modern  civilization, 
and  which,  at  the  time  1  write  of,  produced  in  England  and 
Italy,  as  betore  in  Greece,  genuine  sciences,  side  by  side  with  a 
complete  art;  after  da  Vinci  and  Michael  Angelo,  the  school  of 
anatomists,  mathematicians,  naturalists,  ending  with  Galileo; 
after  Spenser,  Ben  Johnson,  and  Shakespeare,  the  school  of 
thinkers  who  surround  Bacon  and  lead  up  to  Harvey.  We 
have  not  far  to  look  for  this  school.  In  the  interregnum  of 
Christianity  the  dominating  bent  of  mind  belongs  to  it.  It  was 
paganism  which  reigned  in  Elizabeths  court,  not  only  in  letters, 
but  in  doctrine, — a  paganism  of  the  north,  always  serious, 
generally  sombre,  but  which  was  based,  like  that  of  the  south, 
on  natural  forces." 

To  examine  the  most  startling  proposition  first,  I  must 
begin  with  the  one  that  "the  gaze  continues  fixed  on  nature, 
not  to  admire  now,  but  to  understand."  This  is  a  serious 
declaration  of  a  philosophic  historian,  one  that  is  essential  to 
the  validity  and  intelligibility  of  his  philosophic  history ;  because 
he  has  made  it  without  qualification  as  a  part  of  the  basis  of  a 
part  of  his  argument.  No  mind  ever  beheld  nature  to  under- 
stand, and  not  admire  it.  No  mind  ever  beheld  nature  to 
understand  it.  Did  any  human  mind  ever  behold  nature  at  all  ? 
If  the  gaze  was  fixed  on  nature  to  understand  it.  nature  must 
have  been  beheld  by  the  mind  so  gazing  upon  it,  and  no  mind 
has  ever  come  any  nearer  to  beholding  nature,  than  the  naked 
eye  has  come  to  beholding  the  remotest  celestial  systems.  We 
may  know  that  blood  is  red,  and  that  it  is  composed  of  a  color- 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  283 

less  transparent  fluid  with  countless  corpuscles  floating  in  it. 
But  to  behold  nature  here  to  understand  it,  we  must  know 
why  this  is  so  instead  of  some  other  way.  We  may  know  that 
a  drop  of  blood  is  globular;  but  to  behold  nature  here  to  un- 
derstand it  we  must  know  why  it  is  so  instead  of  oblong, 
irregular,  or  square.  We  may  know  that  a  drop  of  blood  may 
be  at  one  time  in  the  heart,  and  at  another  time  in  some  other 
part  of  the  body.  But  to  behold  nature  here  to  understand  it 
we  must  know  why  it  so  migrates,  and  what  force  impels  it 
throughout  its  peregrinations.  We  may  know  that  in  less  time 
than  can  be  computed  a  thought  may  go  back  to  a  very  remote 
antiquity,  and  out  to  an  incalculable  distance  in  space;  but  to 
behold  nature  here  to  understand  it  we  must  know  how  it 
does  this,  and  what  force  impels  its  flight.  No  one  can  imag- 
ine why  gravitation  tends  all  substance  on  or  near  the  earth 
toward  its  center.  Life  may  be  traced  back  through  the  vari- 
ous conditions  of  substance,  in  its  various  combinations  and 
subject  to  the  various  influences  working  upon  it,  to  the  radi- 
ation of  light  and  heat  from  the  sun.  But  nature  is  not  beheld 
here  to  be  understood.  We  have  a  bare  glimpse  of  it.  The 
question  immediately  suggests  itself— where  did  the  sun 
obtain  its  light  and  heat  ?  Worse  and  more — why  should  its 
light  and  heat  have  such  influence  or  effect  on  substance  in 
some  combinations  and  conditions,  and  an  entirely  different  in- 
fluence or  effect  on  substance  in  other  combinations  and  con- 
ditions ?  Scientifically,  the  buzz  of  a  gnat,  the  hum  of  a  bee, 
the  prayer  and  praise  of  the  worshipper,  the  phillipics  of  the 
fanatic,  the  tick  of  a  watch,  the  roar  of  a  cataract,  the  explos- 
ion of  a  mine,  are  all  traceable  to  the  sun's  irradiation  of  light 
and  heat,  its  effect  on  the  substance  subjected  to  their  com- 
bined force.  Can  a  priest  pray  without  the  exertion  of  physi- 
cal force  ?  He  cannot  even  think  without  some  exertion  of  the 
brain,  and  this  is  physical  exertion  because  a  certain  measure 
of  it  produces  fatigue,  more  of  it  disturbs  the  repose  of  the 
nerves — and  they  are  phvsical  substance — enough  of  it  can  be 
and  frequently  is  done  to  produce  prostration,  impair,  and 
some  times  ruin  the  physical  health. 

The  brain  would  not  operate  so  as  to  formulate  the  heart's 


2^4  etHlCS  OF  LITERAtURe. 

supplications,  or  dart  its  own  thoughts  to  remote  distance  in 
space  or  time,  or  excogitate  its  senseless  philosophical  dog- 
mas, unless  it  were  invigorated  by  the  nutrition  derived  from 
the  blood  circulating  through  it.  There  would  be  no  blood  so 
circulating  and  furnishing  such  nutrition  unless  the  appropriate 
organs  therefor  extract  it  from  the  food  furnished  them  through 
the  stomach.  There  is  no  food  but  is  mediately  or  immediate- 
ly derived  from  vegetation,  and  there  is  no  vegetation  but  is 
produced  by  the  agency  of  the  sun's  light  and  heat.  The  force 
which  the  sun  generates  then  is  mechanical,  because  all  its 
visible  effects  are  mechanical — the  sighs  and  groans  and 
meditations,  hopes  and  fears  and  loves  and  hatreds  of  the 
religious  enthusiast;  even  the  philosophic  deductions  of  the 
philosophic  historian  of  English  Literature,  and  my  own  objec- 
tions thereto  are  all  ultimately  mechanical — at  least  they  are 
mechanically  caused  or  derived.  When  science  has  discovered 
this,  it  has  caught  a  faint  glimpse  of  nature.  It  cannot  intelligi- 
bly imagine  any  thing  like  a  reason  why  it  is  so,  nor  why  it 
were  not  so  well  or  even  better  some  other  way,  or — not  at 
all.  Nothing  could  be  sillier  than  to  say  that  "the  gaze  con- 
tinues fixed  on  nature,  not  to  admire  now,  but  to  understand." 
The  first  proposition  is  that  at  some  time  men  escaped  from 
ecclesiastical  and  monkish  thralldom,  and  were  struck  with  the 
pagan  idea  of  a  life  true  to  nature  and  freely  developed ;  that 
they  found  nature  buried  behind  scholasticism,  that  they  ex- 
pressed it  (nature)  in  poems  and  paintings  "with  such  divina- 
tion of  its  laws,  instincts  and  forms,  that  we  might  extract  from 
their  theatre  and  pictures  a  complete  theory  of  soul  and  body." 
It  is  reasonably  fair  to  presume  that  by  the  complete  theory 
here  spoken  of  a  complete  intelligible  theory  is  meant,  one 
that  a  human  mind  could  conceive  and  express  in  intelligible 
form  so  that  other  human  minds  might  grasp  it.  The  material 
from  which  it  was  to  be  extracted  would  seem  rather  meagre 
for  such  a  product.  Expressions  in  poetry  and  drama  and  paint- 
ing, may  imitate  nature  as  far  as  nature  is  seen  by  the  artist 
making  the  expressions.  So  far  as  they  are  content  to  copy 
what  they  have  seen  in  nature,  they  may  safely  attempt  to 
represent  nature.     But  when  they  go  beyond  that  to  invention. 


1 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  28^ 

they  tread  unknown  and  dangerous  ground,  and  may  deviate 
from  nature  as  for  as  guess-work  can  go.  If  an  artist  has  a 
complete  and  intelligible  conception  of  body  and  soul  he 
may  express  it  in  his  poem,  his  painting,  or  his  drama.  No  artist 
or  poet  ever  had  such  a  conception.  The  aggregate  of  all  the 
conceptions  ever  had  of  body  and  soul,  which  were  severally 
true  as  far  as  they  went,  would  not  constitute  a  complete 
theory  of  body  and  soul.  A  complete  theory  of  body  and  soul, 
without  regard  to  its  being  true,  is  not  a  human  possibility. 
No  man  ever  lived  who  could  imagine  how  they  were  related, 
or  how  he  could  conceive  them  to  be  related.  Many  persons 
may  have  had  vague  and  indefinite  ideas  of  their  being  related, 
but  no  one  has  yet  definitely  and  intelligibly,  even  to  himself, 
thought  out  and  fixed  in  his  own  mind  such  a  thing  as  a  com- 
prehensible relation  between  body  and  soul.  No  human  mind 
can  do  so.  The  relation  of  body  and  soul,  if  it  exists,  is  a  very 
important  factor  in  the  complete  theory  of  body  and  soul.  If 
there  is  no  such  relation,  then  body  and  soul  cannot  together 
be  the  subject,  nor  separately  be  the  subjects,  of  any  thing  like 
a  complete  theory;  although  taken  separately  they  each  might 
be  the  subject  of  some  confusedly  imagined  theory. 

The  first  proposition  in  the  above  quoted  declaration  sug- 
gests another  question — when  did  men  escape  from  ecclesiasti- 
cal oppression  ?  Waiving  the  falsity  of  the  imputation  that 
during  the  Elizabethan  era  a  paganism  of  any  kind  prevailed  in 
her  court,  even  in  intellectual  irreverence,  in  literary  licentious- 
ness, or  in  any  thing  else;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  investigation 
admitting  that  such  paganism  then  prevailed,  there  was  still  no 
escape  from  ecclesiastical  oppression.  Paganism  is  necessarily 
religion,  religion  is  necessarily  restraint,  and  restraint  is  neces- 
sarily oppression.  If  there  is  such  a  thing  as  entire  absence  of 
restraint  and  oppression,  it  must  be  in  entire  absence  of  relig- 
ion, pagan  and  all  others.  Absolute  freedom  can  only  consist 
in  absolute  atheism— in  the  abolition  of  the  word  ought,  in  the 
cancellation  of  obligation,  in  the  demolition  of  duty,  in  the  ex- 
tirpation of  all  sense  of  duty  and  obligation.  So  long  as  a 
vestige  of  such  sense  remains,  the  individual  is  bound, 
restrained,  and  (ecclesiastically)  oppressed  with  it.     And  as  no 


286  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

mind  ever  existed  absolutely  clear  of  such  sense,  atheism  is 
not  a  human  possibility. 

Another  question  suggests  itself — who  were  the  men  that 
had  escaped  from  monkish  asceticism  ?  Is  it  possible  that  by 
the  word  men  as  used  in  that  connection  the  philosophic  his- 
torian meant  the  one  in  the  hundred  that  fasted,  prayed, 
counted  his  beads,  or  sanctimoniously  sighed  for  the  sins  of  his 
fellows;  instead  of  the  ninety-nine  including  the  indifferent, 
the  preoccupied,  the  conservative,  as  well  as  those  who 
revelled  and  rioted  in  the  fancied  felicities  of  their  existence  ? 
Was  there  no  laughter  in  those  days  ?  Were  there  no  May- 
poles ?  The  philosophic  historian  himself  quotes  the  answer 
from  the  Life  of  Richard  Baxter.  Was  no  beer  brewed  ? 
Were  there  no  Donnybrook  fairs  ?  Were  there  no  Darbies 
and  Joans  ?  Were  there  no  gaming,  duelling,  seducing,  de- 
baucheries, or  any  of  the  other  accomplishments,  pastimes, 
or  graces  of  a  Christian  civilization  ? 

Another  question  presents  itself — In  what  respect  and  how 
can  the  pagan  idea  of  life  be  truer  to  nature  than  that  of  any 
other  form  of  religion  ?  Paganism  is  polytheism,  and  involves 
belief  in  a  plurality  of  Gods.  If  this  is  more  natural  to  the 
human  mind  in  the  abstract,  or  merely  as  a  human  mind,  than 
monotheism,  then  the  pagan  idea  of  life  may  be  truer  to  nature 
than  that  of  any  other  religion,  or.  than  that  of  irreligion  or 
atheism.  Otherwise  it  cannot  be.  This  suggests  the  further 
question, — which  is  the  most  natural  to  the  human  mind 
merely  as  such,  and  without  any  prejudices,  if  such  a  mind  can 
be  supposed,  polytheism,  or  monotheism  ?  I  leave  atheism 
out  of  the  account,  as  being  impossible  to  the  human  mind. 
If  the  question  is  legitimately  within  the  range  of  human  specu- 
lation at  all,  it  is  purely  metaphysical;  and  cannot,  nor  can 
anything  in  it,  be  met  with  anything  like  demonstration  from 
any  phenomena  apprehensible  to  the  senses.  As  a  subject  of 
metaphysical  speculation,  the  polytheistic  idea  is  a  contradic- 
tion, it  is  self-destructive.  It  necessarily  involves  an  impossi- 
ble division  of  infinite  power  among  a  number  of  infinitely 
powerful  Beings ;  as  no  one  would  be  so  absurd  as  to  suppose 
a  God  with  less  than  infinite  power.     If  there  are  more  than 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  287 

one  God,  the  power  of  one  is  necessarily  limited  by  the  power 
of  another,  and  the  moment  a  limit  to  the  power  is  supposed, 
the  idea  of  God  goes  glimmering.  Then  the  fundamental  idea 
of  paganism  is  utterly  destructive  of  itself,  it  will  not  bear  even 
a  slight  alalysis,  and  it  would  not  be  very  judicious  to  accept 
its  derivative  as  the  true  idea  of  human  life.  For  aught  we 
huoiv  there  may  be  Gods  as  numerous  as  the  sands  of  the  sea, 
and  they  may  each  be  infinitely  powerful.  But  we  do  know 
that  the  human  mind  is  unable  to  conceive  the  possibility  of 
more  than  one  Being  of  infinite  power,  and  hence,  that  in  such 
condition  of  the  human  mind,  the  polytheistic  idea  is  unnatural 
to  it.  If  the  very  bedrock  of  paganism  is  itself  unnatural  to  the 
human  mind,  then  the  pagan  idea  of  life  cannot  be  very  natural 
to  it. 

Were  it  answered  that  countless  millions  have  been  pagans, 
imbued  with  the  polytheistic  idea  which  lies  at  the  base  of 
paganism,  it  argues  nothing  in  favor  of  the  naturalness  of  the 
polytheistic  idea.  No  one  ever  believed  in  paganism,  or  in 
any  other  ism,  until  the  belief  was  instilled  into  his  mind. 
This  process  was  to  him  an  education  of  some  sort  and  in 
some  measure,  and  thereby  and  to  such  extent  prejudiced  his 
mind.  And  even  such  minds  so  prejudiced  could  not  believe 
in  the  existence  of  more  than  one  God  (Beings  of  infinite 
power)  after  critically  trying  to  think  the  possibility  of  their 
being,  because  as  above  shown,  he  would  have  found  it  im- 
possible to  think  such  possibility,  and  hence  impossible  to  so 
believe.  That  which  is  impossible  of  thought  cannot  be  natural 
to  the  mind;  although  by  artificial  means  it  may  have  been 
caused  to  obtain  in  many,  or  in  all  minds.  If  by  the  inexor- 
able laws  of  thought  the  idea  must  vanish  from  the  mind  the 
very  moment  the  mind  attempts  to  establish  it  there  by  its  own 
natural  processes  of  reasoning,  then  the  idea  cannot  be  natural 
to  the  mind,  no  matter  how  extensively  it  may  have  obtained 
before  such  attempt  was  made,  or  where  it  has  not  been  made. 

One  among  the  most  remarkable  propositions  1  have  found 
in  philosophy  is  this  of  the  philosophic  historian  in  his  historic 
dissertation  on  the  alleged  pagan  renaissance,  that  "Methods 
and  philosophies,  as  well  as  literatures  and  religions,  arise  from 


288  ETHICS  OF   LITERATURE. 

the  spirit  of  the  age ;  and  this  spirit  of  the  age  makes  them 
potent  or  powerless.  One  state  of  public  intelligence  excludes 
a  certain  kind  of  literature ;  another,  a  certain  scientific  concep- 
tion." These  postulates  cannot  be  the  results  of  deliberate 
rational  thought  on  the  subjects  to  which  they  relate;  yet  they 
are  cardinal  to  the  general  argument,  which  must  then  be  un- 
sound if  these  are  fallacious.  If  the  propositions  are  true,  then 
methods,  philosophies,  literatures,  and  religions,  are  mere 
manifestations  of  the  spirit  of  the  age  from  which  they  so 
arise,  and  no  argument  of  the  question  can  rise  above  a  mere 
play  upon  words.  Where  the  terms  used  are  themselves 
essentially  vague  and  elastic,  and  are  not  rendered  more  pre- 
cise by  the  connection  and  manner  in  which  they  are  used,  it 
may  be  difficult  to  trace  some  apparently  profound  philosophic 
propositions  to  a  definite  philosophic  position.  But  1  think  it 
may  properly  be  assumed  that  by  the  term  spirit  of  the  age  as 
used  in  the  above  quotation,  the  most  generally  and  popularly 
prevailing  opinions,  predilections,  and  prejudices  of  mankind, 
relating  to  subjects  of  the  most  general  concern  are  meant. 
To  say  that  such  spirit  produces  philosophies  or  religions,  or 
that  they  arise  from  such  spirit,  is  a  direct  contradiction  of  the 
facts  as  they  are  well  known  to  have  occurred.  If  Galileo 
founded  a  philosophy  on  the  exposed  errors  and  ruins  of  pre- 
vious philosophies,  his  certainly  did  not  arise  from  the  spirit  of 
the  age  which  strove  to  extinguish  his,  and  did  suppress  him. 
If  his  had  arisen  from  the  spirit  of  the  age,  it  would  simply 
have  voiced  the  sentiment  of  the  age,  very  slight  argument 
would  have  established  it,  and  it  would  have  lionized  him; 
whereas,  during  the  age  very  few  accepted  it  although  it  was 
enforced  by  unanswerable  argument,  and  it  not  only  wrought 
his  ostracism,  but  his  imprisonment.  In  this  instance  philos- 
ophy did  not  arise  from  the  spirit  of  the  age.  Did  the  Chris- 
tian religion  arise  from  the  spirit  of  the  age  which  crucified  its 
founder,  and  persecuted  its  few  despised  adherents }  Did 
Mohammedanism  arise  from  the  spirit  of  the  age  when  its 
founder  was  obliged  to  flee  his  country  to  save  his  life,  and 
could  only  muster  one  thousand  armed  adherents  after  six 
years  promulgation  of  his   religion  ?     Would  it  not  be  more 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  289 

accurate  historically,  and  more  rational  philosophically,  to  say 
that  philosophies  and  religions  modify  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
than  to  say  that  they  arise  from  it  ? 

Professing  to  trace  the  connection  or  relation  between  the 
Theatre  and  Literature  in  England  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the 
philosophic  historian  says  of  the  English  mind,  "It  sees  inthe 
hero  not  only  the  hero,  but  the  individual,  with  his  manner  of 
walking,  drinking,  swearing,  blowing  his  nose;  with  the  tone 
of  his  voice,  whether  he  is  thin  or  ht,  and  thus  plunges  to  the 
bottom  of  things  with  every  look,  as  by  a  miner's  deep  shaft. 
*  *  *  Such  a  conception,  by  the  multitude  of  details  which 
it  combines,  and  by  the  depth  of  the  vistas  which  it  embraces, 
is  a  half-vision  which  shakes  the  whole  soul.  What  its  works 
are  about  to  show  is,  with  what  energy,  what  disdain  of  con- 
trivance, what  vehemence  of  truth,  it  dares  to  coin  and  ham- 
mer the  human  medal ;  with  what  liberty  it  is  able  to  repro- 
duce in  full  prominence  worn  out  characters,  and  the  extreme 
flights  of  virgin  nature."  This  is  in  the  chapter  called  The 
Theatre  in  the  book  entitled  the  Renaissance,  which  chapter  is 
devoted  to  a  depiction  of  the  scenes  enacted  on  the  British 
stage  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  the  manner  in  which  they 
were  received,  as  indications  of  a  transitional  stage  of  the 
British  mind.  There  are  murders,  poisonings,  punishments, 
intrigues,  ambitions,  loves,  jealousies,  hopes,  fears;  and  indeed 
all  that  goes  to  make  up  the  variety  of  life,  real  and  fanciful,  as  ex- 
hibited or  reproduced  in  drama.  Its  significance  in  English 
literature,  so  far  as  it  is  exhibited  in  connection  with  a  doctrine 
based  on,  or  a  claim  of,  any  alleged  change  in  the  human  mind 
is  not  apparent.  More  than  two  thousand  years  before  then 
similar  scenes,  exhibiting  similar  characters,  actuated  by  simi- 
lar motives  and  subject  to  similar  passions,  and  expressing 
themselves  in  a  similar  manner,  with  as  great  variety  of  emo- 
tion were  to  be  seen  on  the  Greek  Stage,  in  the  Prometheus 
Chained,  The  Furies,  Hecuba,  Electra,  The  Ecclesiazusae, 
Lysistrata,  The  Wasps,  and  numerous  others.  If  a  coarse  and 
cruel  barbarity  and  a  libidinous  licentiousness  on  the  stage  are 
trustworthy  indexes  to  the  human  mind,  it  is  not  to  be  con- 
gratulated on  its  progress  or  attairfment.     To  this  day   no  play 


290  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

is  complete  without  its  villain,  and  few  of  them  are  more  popu- 
lar than  Dr.  Jekyl  an4  Mr.  Hyde;  and  if  there  is  any  better 
drawing  card  than  a  French  duel  with  rapiers,  it  is  either  a 
fistic  mill  by  big  neck  pugilists,  or  a  troupe  of  brazen-faced 
strumpets  in  tights.  It  appears  that  taste  and  performance  in 
theatricals  cannot  have  much  literary  significance,  notwith- 
standing the  English  mind  of  the  sixteenth  century  is  said  to 
have  plunged  "to  the  bottom  of  things  with  every  look  as  by  a 
miner's  deep  shaft,"  and  seen  its  hero  individually  "with  his 
manner  of  walking,  drinking,  swearing,  blowing  his  nose." 
It  seems  the  philosophic  historian  had  almost  blown  his  own 
nose  in  or  upon  his  philosophy. 

At  the  beginning  of  a  chapter  of  eighteen  pages,  describing 
or  rather  descanting  upon  the  dramatical  works  of  Ben  Jonson, 
the  philosophic  historian  says,  "When  a  new  civilization 
brings  a  new  art  to  light,  there  are  about  a  dozen  men  of  talent 
who  partly  express  the  general  idea,  surrounding  one  or  two 
men  of  genius  who  express  it  thoroughly."  He  then  proceeds 
to  group  a  number  of  names  which,  so  far  as  concerns  their 
importance  in  literature  and  art,  may  as  well  have  been  Smith 
or  Jones,  around  such  names  as  Calderon,  de  Vega,  Rubens, 
Jonson,  and  Shakespeare.  It  may  be  proper  in  describing,  de- 
fining, portraying,  or  in  treating  of  the  literary  works  of  an 
individual,  and  estimating  their  character  as  well  as  their  im- 
portance in  and  relation  to  literature,  to  philosophize  upon  the 
essential  characteristics  of  both,  in  order  to  make  the  import- 
ance and  relation  of  the  particular  to  the  general  subject  more 
apparent.  But  this  certainly  does  not  justify  the  imputation 
that  there  are  new  civilizations  bringing  new  arts  to  light,  the 
general  ideas  of^which  can  be  thoroughly  expressed  by  one  or 
two  men  of  genius,  who  are  surrounded  by  about  a  dozen  men 
of  talent  who  can  only  partly  express  them.  There  is  not  and 
never  was  a  new  civilization.  History  discovers  the  existence 
of  no  such  thing  at  any  time.  It  records  the  facts  and  circum- 
stances attending  and  in  some  instances  causing  the  modifica- 
tion of  a  civilization,  but  no  new  civilization  has  yet  been,  and 
in  the  very  nature  of  things  none  can  be.  Human  progress 
from   primitive  barbarism  toward  civilization  never  went   in 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  29 1 

leaps  or  bounds,  and  the  civilization  of  the  sixteenth  or  any 
other  century,  however  much  it  may  have  surpassed  that  of 
any  previous  century  was  not  new,  but  had  evolved  from  the 
prior  one  by  a  process  so  slow  as  to  be  actually  imperceptible 
to  any  but  the  critical  observers.  And  even  their  demarcations  of 
its  alleged  periods  and  stages  and  transitions  are  generally  more 
fanciful  than  real.  The  more  closelv  and  critically  one  observes 
human  progress,  the  more  firmly  he  will  be  convinced  that 
change  in  civilization  is  mere  modification.  Even  the  colo- 
nists or  conquerors  or  missionaries  who  change  the  civilization 
of  a  barbarous  country,  do  not  create  a  new  civilization ;  at 
most  they  only  e.xtend  one  already  existing.  And  what  must 
be  thought  of  the  literary  discrimination  of  a  philosophic  his- 
torian who  names  Lopez  de  Vega  as  one  of  the  few  men  of 
genius  who  could  express  thoroughly  the  alleged  new  art, 
brought  to  light  by  the  alleged  new  civilization  }  What  does 
he  mean  by  the  term  express  it  tJwroughly  ?  If  he  means  ex- 
press it  profusely,  or  interminably,  he  is  not  far  wrong;  for 
Lopez  de  Vega's  "dramas  on  which  his  popularity  mainly 
rested,  number  not  less  than  eighteen  hundred."  Comment 
were  idle. 

And  what  new  arts  are  brought  to  light  by  any  civilization  ? 
From  the  artists,  the  men  of  talent  and  genius  named  by  the 
philosophic  historian,  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  he  was  alluding 
especially  to  poetry  and  paintin-g.  Neither  of  these  is  a  new 
art.  Neither  history  nor  tradition  can  refer  us  to  a  time  when 
either  of  them  was  not  practiced  as  an  art.  If  they  are  both 
known  to  have  existed  as  arts  as  long  as  we  are  informed  that 
civilization  has  itself  existed,  neither  of  them  can  correctly  be 
called  a  new  art,  A  translator  of  the  tragedies  of  Aeschylus 
has  said,  "There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Phrynichus 
materially  advanced  the  art,  or  structure  of  tragedy,  beyond 
the  point  at  which  it  was  left  by  Thespis.  On  this  simple 
basis,  and  with  these  imperfect  materials,  Aeschylus  conceived 
and  framed  the  regular  drama — such  in  the  main,  as  it  is  found 
in  the  works  of  the  greatest  poets,  who  have  acquired  in  this 
career  the  highest  reputation."  In  other  words,  and  perhaps 
more  accurately,  Aeschylus  had  improved  or  advanced  the  art 


292  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

as  it  was  left  by  Phrynichus,  who  had  not  materially  improved 
or  advanced  it  as  left  by  Thespis.  But  without  some  evidence 
that  Thespis  had  discovered  or  invented  it,  there  is  as  much 
reason  to  believe  that  some  one  had  preceded  him  therein,  as 
that  he  had  preceded  Phrynichus.  The  f^ict  that  it  has  advanc- 
ed or  improved  almost  constantly  ever  since  the  times  of  Thes- 
pis, perhaps  less  rapidly  at  some  times  than  at  others,  possibly 
at  some  times  retrogressing  instead  of  progressing,  and  thus 
displaying  the  rhythm  which  Spencer  says  attends  all  forms  of 
movement,  is  a  very  forcible  argument  that  when  Thespis 
practiced  the  art  it  was  in  a  state  of  progression ;  that  as  an  art 
it  was  never  brought  to  light  by  any  civilization ;  but  that  like 
civilization  itself,  it  is  a  growth,  a  developement,  expanding, 
unfolding,  and  refining  like  all  other  human  performances,  by 
a  process  of  evolution.  And  so  of  painting,  which  "speaks 
alike  to  all  nations  and  all  ages,"  its  existence  as  an  art  dates 
from  the  dawn  of  light  upon  human  sight,  and  the  capacity 
to  distinguish  and  manipulate  colors.  To  say  that  at  any  time 
these  were  new  to  England  would  be  parallel  to  saying  that  at 
one  time  the  Spanish  type  of  civilization  was  new  to  Central 
America  and  the  West  India  Isles. 

The  philosophic  historian,  after  mentioning  some  of  the 
alleged  attributes  of  Shakespeare  says,  "that  this  great  age 
alone  could  have  cradled  such  a  child."  With  equal  propriety 
one  might  say  that  no  other  than  the  first  century  could  have 
produced  an  Adam ;  that  none  but  the  Mosaic  period  could 
have  produced  the  author  of  the  book  of  Job;  that  none  but  the 
tenth  century  B.  C.  could  have  produced  a  Solomon;  that  none 
but  the  ninth  century  B.  C.  could  have  produced  a  Homer; 
that  none  but  the  seventeenth  century  A.  D.  could  have  pro- 
duced a  Titus  Gates ;  and  finally,  that  to  the  nineteenth  century 
alone  was  reserved  the  glory  of  producing  its  Jack  the  Ripper. 
When  any  kind  or  quality  of  genius  manifests  itself  in  a  marked 
degree,  philosophers,  as  is  their  unphilosophical  wont,  learned- 
ly attribute  the  phenomenon  to  some  occult  infiuence  inherent 
in  the  age  or  clime  where  it  appears.  We  have  no  knowledge 
of  any  age  that  has  not  produced,  or  at  least  had  its  great  men. 
Thousands  of  them  have  been  brought  to  the  front  and  afforded 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  293 

the  means  of  manifesting  their  greatness  by  mere  occasion ; 
while  thousands  by  nature  equally  as  great  and  gifted,  have 
lived  in  obscurity  and  gone  to  oblivion,  for  mere  want  of 
occasion.  In  a  loose  and  rambling  way,  and  too  profusely 
stated  to  be  fully  quoted  here,  the  philosophic  historian  urges 
that  Shakespeare's  own  character,  emotions,  passions,  instincts, 
and  nature,  were  such  as  he  has  painted  those  ot  the  personnel  of 
his  plays..  Quoted  fragmentarily,  but  fairly,  he  says,  "Hamlet, 
it  will  be  said,  is  half-mad;  this  explains  the  vehemence  of  his 
expressions.  The  truth  is  that  Hamlet,  here,  is  Shakespeare. 
*  *  *  These  characters  are  all  of  the  same  family.  Good  or 
bad,  gross  or  delicate,  witty  or  stupid,  Shakespeare  gives  them 
all  the  same  kind  of  spirit  which  is  his  own.  *  *  *  7he 
mechanical  imagination  produces  Shakespeare's  fool  characters; 
a  quick  venturesome  dazzling,  unquiet  imagination,  produces 
his  men  of  wit.  *  *  *  Falstaff  has  the  passions  of  an  ani- 
mal, and  the  imagination  of  a  man  of  wit.  There  is  no  char- 
acter which  better  exemplifies  the  fire  and  immorality  of 
Shakespeare.  *  *  *  The  reason  is,  that  his  morals  are 
those  of  pure  nature,  and  Shakespeare's  mind  is  congenial  with 
his  own.  *  *  *  The  impassioned  imagination  of  Shake- 
speare has  left  its  trace  in  all  the  creatures  whom  it  has  called 
forth.  *  *  *  How  much  more  visible  this  impassioned 
and  unfettered  genius  of  Shakespeare  in  the  great  characters 
which  sustain  the  whole  weight  of  the  drama;  the  startling 
imagination,  the  furious  velocity  of  the  manifold  and  exuberant 
ideas,  passion  let  loose,  rushing  upon  death  and  crime,  hallu- 
cinations, madness,  all  the  ravages  of  delirium  bursting  through 
will  and  reason ;  such  are  the  forces  and  ravings  which  engen- 
der them."  The  necessary  inference  is  that  in  portraying  his 
stage  characters, 

"With  little  pains  he  made  the  picture  true, 
And  from  reflection  took  the  rogue  he  drew." 

Whoever  will  attentively  read  the  chapter  of  the  philosophic 
historian  of  English  Literature  which  is  devoted  exclusively  to 
Shakespeare  will  find  himself  in  a  furious  flying  cyclone  of 
empty,  aimless,  contradictory,  grandiloquent,  metaphor,  and 
generalization.     At  its  beginning  its  author  says,  "I  am  about 


294  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE, 

to  describe  an  extraordinary  species  of  mind."  Having  care- 
fully examined  its  thirty-four  pages,  and  finding  nothing  therein 
which  resembles  a  description  of  any  mind,  1  am  forced  to  the 
opinion  that  whoever  grasps  and  assimilates  what  is  there  said 
of  Shakespeare,  will  doubt  that  he  really  had  any  mind.  Such 
a  mental  medley  is  seldom  exhibited  for  the  contemplation  of 
the  thoughtful  reader.  No  psychological  principle  is  deducible 
from  the  study,  and  no  such  principle  can  be  applied  to  it  as  a 
whole.  The  truth  is  the  entire  chapter  is  not  an  entirety.  It 
is  a  chaotic  torrent  of  turgescence,  without  form  and  void.  To 
maintain  that  such  a  writer  as  Shakespeare  has  passions  and  in- 
stincts and  characteristics,  corresponding  and  parallel  with 
those  he  personifies  in  the  personnel  of  his  plays,  is  to  ignore 
ail  possibly  legitimate  principles  of  psychology,  and  implies  a 
more  feverish  furor  in  the  imagination  of  the  proponent,  than 
in  that  of  the  subject  of  such  proposition.  Many  of  Shake- 
speare's personages  were  real  men  and  women,  and  in  his 
plays  they  are  represented  in  their  historically  true  characters, 
though  in  some  instances,  perhaps  more  intensely.  They  are 
generally  as  real  to  his  representations  of  them,  as  he  is  him- 
self to  the  philosophic  historians  representation  of  him.  If  the 
philosophic  historian  is  exemplifying  a  principle  of  psychology 
in  saying  that  "the  impassioned  imagination  of  Shakespeare 
has  left  its  trace  in  all  the  creatures  whom  it  has  called  forth," 
and  if  many  of  them  are  called  forth  from  the  reality,  the  same 
psychological  principle  would  imply  that  the  philosophic  his- 
torian was  just  such  a  personage  as  he  has  attempted  to  repre- 
sent Shakespeare  as  being.  Shakespeare  in  presenting  a  per- 
sonage in  his  drama  or  upon  the  stage  was  simply  describing 
his  or  her  character;  or  rather  by  a  sort  of  jugglery  with  his 
reader's  or  the  spectator's  imagination,  was  procuring  the  per- 
sonage to  exhibit  the  character  to  the  reader  or  spectator — 
causing  it  to  describe  its  character  for  itself  If  psychology  im- 
plies that  in  such  description  he  has  imparted  his  own  charac- 
teristics to  the  characters  so  described,  or  as  formulating  such  • 
characters  from  his  own  characteristics,  then  on  the  same 
psychological  principle,  the  philosophic  historian,  in  his  con- 
fused cartoon  of  Shakespeare,  has  simply  exhibited  the  ramb- 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  295 

ling  extravagance  of  his  own  impetuous  imagination.  If  such 
alleged  psychological  principle  holds  good,  the  poet  who  pre- 
sents a  thief  as  a  personage  in  his  play  would  steal;  and  the 
more  vividly  he  represents  the  character  of  the  thief,  the  more 
closely  he  should  be  watched.  It  thus  appears  to  be  much 
easier  to  assume  the  existence  of  an  alleged  principle  of  psych- 
ology, than  to  conform  to  it;  and  also  that  the  rapid,  rushing, 
roaring  inundation  of  figure,  metaphor,  allusion,  classification 
and  generalization  called  the  history  of  English  Literature,  in 
which  we  are  promised  the  psychology  of  a  people,  and  which 
assumes  all  the  airs  and  dignity  of  a  profoundly  philo- 
sophic criticism,  overthrows  its  own  author's  claims  to 
reliability  and  authenticity  as  a  philosopher,  if  we  apply  to  it 
the  very  principles  of  psychology  upon  which  he  bases  his 
own  psychological  deductions. 

Following  the  chapter  on  Shakespeare,  is  one  called  the 
Christian  Renaissance,  which  is  very  entertaining  and  instruc- 
tive in  a  historical  point  of  view ;  and  as  quarrelsome  as  I  am, 
I  find  but  little  in  it  that  1  regard  really  objectionable.  Of 
course  its  style  is  very  figurative  and  tlorid,  but  it  is  not  there- 
by blemished  so  badly  as  some  others  already  examined. 
There  are  however  a  few  propositions  that  seem  to  deserve  at- 
tention on  account  of  their  fallacy  as  philosophic  propositions. 
It  is  said  that  "For  fourteen  days  Luther  was  in  such  a  condi- 
tion that  he  could  neither  drink,  eat,  nor  sleep."  Day  and 
night  "his  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  text  of  Saint  Paul,  he  saw  the 
Judge,  and  his  inevitable  hand.  Such  is  the  tragedy  which  is 
enacted  in  all  Protestant  souls, — the  eternal  tragedy  of  con- 
science; and  its  issue  is  a  new  religion."  Philosophically  con- 
sidered, the  strongest  possible  argument  for  irreligion  and 
against  all  religion,  is  the  derivation  of  new  religions;  and  the 
force  of  the  argument  is  intensified  in  the  alleged  fact  that  the 
new  religion  is  the  issue  of  such  ecstasy  as  Luther  must  have 
been  in  to  perform  the  wonderful  feat  with  which  he  is  so 
credited.  While  different  religions  may  repress  vice  and  pro- 
mote virtue  in  various  degrees,  one  cannot  philosophically  con- 
ceive more  than  one  entirely  true  and  reliable  soul  saving  relig- 
ion, unless  there  is  more  than  one  God  to  whose  grace  a  ser- 


k 


296  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

vice  in  the  religion  is  to  bring  its  votary.  After  an  apostasy, 
either  of  long  or  short  duration,  or  before  having  ever  had  any 
religion  whatever  (if  such  a  state  were  possible)  a  person  or  a 
people  might  be  returned  or  brought  to  the  true  religion.  But 
if  a  neio  religion  issues  from  a  frenzy  it  cannot  be  the  true 
religion  unless  all  others  are  false,  or  there  be  more  than  one 
God  to  serve  by  the  religious  life.  Still  the  supposed  new 
religion  might  be  more  potent  than  some  others  to  curb  actual 
wi'ckedness.  But  that  would  not  be  the  orthodox  soul  saving 
and  soul  damning  religion  intended  in  the  passage  being  ex- 
amined. To  say  that  orthodox  religions  may  vary  according 
to  the  states  and  conditions  of  various  peoples  and  the  different 
stages  of  their  civilizations,  is  begging  the  question.  It  implies 
a  limit  to  the  power  of  the  Almighty  to  have  adapted  all  His 
creatures  to  His  one  true  religion,  and  exhibits  Him  as  adapting 
Himself  and  His  service  to  the  various  and  uncertain  caprices  of 
His  creatures. 

Having  descanted  at  great  length  upon  the  religious  frenzy 
that  had  prompted  fanatics  to  encounter  or  rather  to  court 
martyrdom,  and  buoyed  their  spirits  while  their  bodies  were 
burned  by  bigoted  brutes,  the  philosophic  historian  says,  "One 
detail  is  still  needed  to  complete  this  manly  religion — human 
reason."  Without  resorting  to  what  might  be  regarded  capti- 
ous objections  to  such  terminology  as  manly  religion,  it  is  clear 
that  all  religions  of  which  we  have  any  information  have  lacked 
this  same  detail,  and  that  nothing  which  the  human  mind  can 
conceive  of  as  a  religion  can  possibly  have  or  partake  of  human 
reason.  This  is  demonstrated  in  the  argument  in  chapters  one 
and  two,  which  is  strengthened  in  some  measure  in  the  argu- 
ment in  chapter  seven,  that  the  question  of  the  mortality  or  im- 
mortality of  the  soul  presents  an  insuperable  antinomy.  The 
immortality  of  the  soul  is  essentially  vital  to  all  imaginable 
religion.  In  the  last  mentioned  chapter  it  is  demonstrated  that 
the  soul's  mortality  is  conclusively  shown  in  the  reasoning  of 
Lucretius;  and  that  its  immortality  is  conclusively  shown  in 
the  reasoning  of  Socrates ;  that  diametrically  opposite  sides  of 
the  same  question  are  conclusively  and  unanswerably  estab- 
lished by  strictly  legitimate  reasoning  from  unquestionable  and 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  2C)'] 

sound  hypotheses.  If  the  soul  is  mortal  there  can  be  no  divine 
sanction  for  anything  which  the  mind  can  conceive  of  as  a  relig- 
ion. If  man's  real  interest  in  his  conduct  and  its  consequences 
ends  with  death,  it  cannot  possibly  enforce  anything  partaking 
of  the  nature  of  duty ;  the  sanction  can  rise  no  higher  than  a 
mere  economy.  Religion  to  the  human  mind,  means  much 
more  than  this.  It  means  eternal  salvation  and  happiness  to 
the  individual,  or  eternal  perdition  and  wretchedness.  If  the 
question  which  is  essentially  fundamental  and  vital  to  religion, 
can  be  solved  and  settled  both  ways,  contrarily,  by  strictly 
legitimate  reasoning  from  unquestionable  hypotheses,  then  it 
is  not  a  legitimate  subject  of  human  reasoning;  and  cannot  in 
any  sense,  nor  to  any  extent  depend  upon  or  partake  of  it. 
Human  reason  being  foreign  and  utterly  inadmissible  to  the 
question  of  the  soul's  mortality  or  immortality  which  is  the 
essential  basis  of  religion,  it  cannot  be  an  essential  detail,  nor 
indeed  any  detail  in  the  leligion;  so  if  the  alleged  manly  relig- 
ion had  not  lacked  the  alleged  detail — human  reason — it  could 
not  have  been  a  religion. 

In  paying  tribute  to  an  ecclesiastic,  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  at- 
tributing to  him  some  measure  of  importance  in  the  alleged 
Christian  renaissance,  the  philosophic  historian  says  :  "In  the 
preacher,  as  well  as  in  the  poet,  as  well  as  in  all  the  cavaliers 
and  all  the  artists  of  the  time,  the  imagination  is  so  full,  that  it 
reaches  the  real  even  to  its  filth,  and  the  ideal  as  for  -as  heaven. 
How  could  true  religious  sentiment  thus  accommodate  itself  to 
such  a  frank  and  worldly  gait  }  This,  however,  is  what  it  has 
done;  and  more — the  latter  has  generated  the  former."  This 
passage  deserves  examination,  because  it  is  philosophically 
sound,  or  it  is  an  idle  figure  of  speech.  In  the  former  case  it 
should  be  understood  so  as  to  be  utilized  to  the  augmentation  of 
of  the  reader's  knowledge,  and  perhaps,  wisdom.  In  the  latter 
case  it  should  be  understood,  so  that  its  meaning,  or  rather  its 
unmeaning,  may  be  rejected  by  the  reader  as  so  much  senseless 
sound.  To  say  that  the  imagination  of  the  persons  named  is 
so  full  that  it  reaches  the  filth  of  the  real,  as  well  as  the  heaven 
of  the  ideal,  seems  like  an  effort  to  palliate,  if  not  justify,  the 
obscenity  of  thought  and  expression  which  constitutes  such 


298  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

filth.  If  there  was  no  such  obscenity,  there  could  be  no  occa- 
sion for  saying  that  such  imagination  reached  such  tilth.  The 
filth  of  the  real  was  necessarily  obscenity  of  thought  and  ex- 
pression in  dealing  with  the  real,  or,  it  had  no  literary  signi- 
ficance whatever.  The  object  seems  to  be  to  mitigate  its  offen- 
siveness  by  attributing  it  to  the  exuberant  imaginations  of  those 
who  indulge  in  it.  On  the  same  principle  we  might  mitigate 
murder  on  account  of  the  extreme  cruelty  of  the  slayer;  or 
theft,  on  account  of  the  extreme  cupidity  of  the  thief;  or  sexual 
debauchery,  on  account  of  the  inordinate  lust  of  the  roue.  The 
copiousness  of  such  imagination,  not  only  seems  to  be  the 
"frank  and  worldly  gait"  to  which  the  "true  religious  senti- 
ment" had  accommodated  itself,  it  is  said  to  have  generated  the 
true  religious  sentiment.  This  is  a  correct  analysis  of  the 
passage  in  question,  if  it  has  any  literary  significance.  So 
analyzed  and  understood,  and  no  other  analysis  or  understand- 
ing seems  to  be  admissible,  the  passage  cannot  be  regarded  very 
ornamental  to  the  literary  form,  or  elevating  to  the  alleged  phil- 
osophy, of  the  history.  Religionists  and  apologists  are  not 
likely  to  be  very  grateful  for  the  patronizing  assurance  that  the 
"true  religious  sentiment"  is  generated  by  "a  frank  and  v/orldly 
gait,"  consisting  largely  of  the  Ji/th  of  the  real,  which,  to  have 
any  literary  significance  must  be  obscenity  of  thought  and  ex- 
pression in  dealing  with  the  real.  If  the  true  religious  senti- 
ment consists  of  an  abiding  faith  in,  and  a  controlling  sense  of 
duty  to,  the  Almighty;  believing  Him  to  be  an  infinitely  wise, 
great,  and  good  Spirit;  it  is  difficult,  or  rather  psychologically 
impossible  to  conceive  how  it  could  be  generated  by  any  "frank 
and  worldly  gait;"  much  less  by  one  consistfng  of  an  imagina- 
tion so  full  as  to  reach  the  filth  of  the  real — the  obscene  in 
thought  and  expression.  The  passage  then  seems  to  be  full 
of — nothing;  and  there  is  no  escape  from  the  necessity  of  re- 
jecting it  as  so  much  senseless  sound. 

The  last  chapter  in  the  second  book,  the  Renaissance,  is 
devoted  to  an  examination  of  the  poetry  of  John  Milton.  As  I 
have  already,  in  chapter  three,  considered  the  philosophy  of  his 
Paradise  Lost,  which,  so  far  as  literature  is  concerned,  is  nearly 
if  not  quite  all  there  is  of  Milton,  it  might  seem  superfluous   to 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  299 

pause  to  consider  what  may  be  said  of  him  by  the  philosophic 
historian  of  English  Literature.  The  chapter  opens,  however, 
with  a  sort  of  exordium  containing  what  appears  to  be  intended 
as  a  sort  of  definition  or  description  of  the  mind  of  its  hero. 
But  when  it  shall  be  read,  no  matter  how  thoughtfully  or  care- 
fully, the  reader  will  find  that  he  knows  less  than  before  about 
the  kind  of  mind  or  literary  character  about  to  be  considered. 
His  (Milton's),  is  said  to  be  "a  mighty  and  superb  mind,  pre- 
pared by  logic  and  enthusiasm  for  eloquence  and  the  epic  style. 
*  *  *  Vast  knowledge,  close  logic  and  grand  passions; 
these  were  his  marks.  His  mind  was  lucid,  his  imagination 
limited.  He  was  incapable  of  'bating  one  jot  of  heart  or  hope,' 
or  of  being  transformed.  He  conceived  the  loftiest  of  ideal 
beauties,  but  he  conceived  only  one.  He  was  not  born  for  the 
drama,  but  for  the  ode.  He  does  not  create  souls,  but  con- 
structs arguments,  and  experiences  emotions."  The  following 
observations  may  assume  in  some  measure  the  appearance  of  a 
contention  for  a  certain  significance  of  words,  but  1  think  they 
will  appear  to  be  justified.  Those  who  have  examined  the 
Paradise  Lost  will  readily  observe  that  all  it  lacks  of  being  dra- 
matic, is  simply  a  colloquial  stage  arrangement,  distinction  and 
adjustment  of  the  several  parts  purporting  to  belong  to  the 
several  actors  and  characters  appearing  in  it;  and  that  it  is 
nothing  *if  not  tragic.  That  the  portions  of  it  which  might 
properly  be  called  narration,  as  they  appear  in  the  poem,  as  well 
as  those  which  appear  to  be  intended  as  philosophy,  are  stated 
in  a  style  sutficiently  grand  to  be  appropriately  called  epic ;  yet 
nearly  all  those  parts,  or  their  substance  and  purport,  would  be 
easily  inferred  from,  or  implied  in,  the  dramatic  recitation  and 
acting  by  the  several  characters  who  appear,  of  their  respective 
parts.  Of  course  the  whole  would  then  constitute  an  argument 
based  on  a  narration  which  it  includes,  yet,  very  few  authors 
really  intend  to  write  anything  in  which  there  is  neither  narra- 
tion nor  argument.  It  will  also  be  observed  that  in  such  argu- 
ment both  sides  of  a  very  momentous,  indeed  an  insolvable  and 
almost  incomprehensible  question,  are  argued.  The  question 
of  divine  justice,  if  it  is  a  question,  "passes  human  compre- 
hension."    But  in  Paradise  Lost,  as  in  all  apologetics,  the  affir- 


^00  ETHfCS   OF   LITER AtURE. 

mative  of  the  question  is  victoriously  maintained,  so  far  as  the 
negative  therein  argued  is  concerned.  It  is  victorious  because 
the  poet,  not  the  philosopher,  who  wrote  the  poem,  not  the 
philosophy,  intended  that  it  should  be  so;  and  he  has  made  his 
improvised  characters  representing  the  opposition,  so  present 
their  cause,  as  that  in  comparison  with  the  affirmative,  the  nega- 
tive argument  appears  to  be  the  weaker.  I  believe  however 
that  in  chapter  three  I  have  shown  that  in  point  of  philosophi- 
cal argument,  that  for  the  affirmative  is  no  less  ignominious  a 
failure.  But  as  a  poem,  and  without  regard  to  philosophy,  all 
candid  judges  must  agree  that  it  is  superb.  It  is  beyond  com- 
pare, the  greatest  work  of  its  author,  and  if  the  tree  is  known  by 
its  fruit,  it  conclusively  shows  that  the  philosophic  historian  was 
mistaken  in  saying  that  Milton  "was  not  born  for  the  drama, 
but  for  the  ode."  There  are  very  few  passages  in  the  Paradise 
Lost  but  would  be  very  ill-suited  to  the  ode,  and  very  few  but 
are  well  suited  to  what  is  popularly  styled  heavy  tragedy;  that 
is,  passages  purporting  to  come  from  his  improvised  characters. 
And  as  above  stated,  nearly  all  else  therein  would  be  implied  in  a 
dramatic  recitation  and  acting  by  such  characters  of  their  respec- 
tive parts.  To  some  this  may  seem  like  taking  too  much  pains 
to  show  a  mistake  of  a  writer.  But  properly  considered,  the 
ethics  of  literature  require  it.  The  author  of  a  philosophic  his- 
tory of  literature  owes  it  to  his  own  ftime  as  a  philosopher,  and 
much  more  to  his  readers'  edification  as  students  of  literary  his- 
tory and  its  philosophy,  if  there  is  such  philosophy,  to  be  accurate 
in  his  statements  concerning  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  char- 
acters in  literature.  And  in  this  instance  he  has  not  been 
accurate. 

I  have  found  fault  with  the  philosophic  historian  for  excess- 
ive use,  or  rather  abuse,  of  metaphor.  It  is  amusing  to  notice 
his  remarks  on  Milton's  penchant  for  the  same  frailty.  He 
quotes  from  the  Reformation  in  England  as  follows,  "What 
greater  debasement  can  there  be  to  royal  dignity,  whose  tower- 
ing and  steadfast  height  rests  upon  the  unmovable  foundations 
of  justice,  and  heroic  virtue,  than  to  chain  it  in  a  dependence 
of  subsisting,  or  ruining,  to  the  painted  battlements  and  gaudy 
rottenness  of  prelatry,  which  want  but  one  puff  of  the  kings  to 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION,    AND    METAPHOR.  3OI 

blow  them  down  like  a  pasteboard  house  built  of  court-cards." 
This  is  Milton's,  of  which  the  philosophic  historian  says, 
"Metaphors  thus  sustained  receive  a  singular  breadth,  pomp, 
and  majesty.  They  are  spread  forth  without  clashing  together, 
like  the  wide  folds  of  a  scarlet  cloak,  bathed  in  light  and 
fringed  with  gold."  Which  of  these  passages  is  the  more  meta- 
phorical ?  Which  the  more  extravagant  or  excessive  as  meta- 
phor ?  1  am  reminded  of  the  two  Jews,  one  of  whom  was  trying 
to  teach  the  other  to  say  things.  It  seemed  impossible  for  the 
immigrant  to  get  it  any  better  than  dings.  The  old  resident 
became  impatient  and  stormed  at  him  with  an  oath,  "why 
can't  you  say  i7'/;;os.^  To  criticise  a  writer's  use  of  metaphor, 
and  do  it  in  metaphor  which  likens  that  being  reviewed,  to 
"the  wide  folds  of  a  scarlet  cloak,  bathed  in  light  and  fringed 
with  gold,"  may  be  quite  the  thing. — it  provokes  a  smile. 
But  see  the  rush  and  hear  the  roar  of  this  torrent,  flowing 
against  the  stream.  Having  quoted  several  passages  from 
Milton's  prayers,  the  philosophic  historian  says,  "This  song  of 
supplication  and  joy  is  an  outpouring  of  splendors,  and  if  we 
search  all  literature,  we  will  hardly  find  a  poet  equal  to  this 
writer  of  prose.  Is  he  truly  a  prose  writer  ?  Entangled  dialec- 
tics, a  heavy  and  awkward  mind,  fanatical  and  ferocious  rustic- 
ity, an  epic  grandeur  of  sustained  and  superabundant  images, 
the  blast  and  recklessness  of  implacable  and  all-powerful  pas- 
sions, the  sublimity  of  religious  and  lyric  exaltation;  we  do 
not  recognize  in  these  features  a  man  born  to  explain,  persuade, 
and  prove.  The  scholasticism  and  coarseness  of  the  time  have 
blunted  or  rusted  his  logic.  Imagination  and  enthusiasm  car- 
ried him  away  and 'enchained  him  in  metaphor."  Milton's 
metaphor  moves  the  philosophic  historian's  bile,  and  still,  the 
greater  part  of  the  substance  of  his  ov/n  philosophic  history  is 
metaphor;  1  may  metaphorically  add,  maintained  somewhat  in 
the  manner  of  a  running  fire.  Just  a  few  pages  before  he  has 
Milton  severely  logical,  and  constantly  constructing  arguments; 
here  he  is  not  "born  to  explain,  persuade  and  prove." 

So  far  1  have  been  concerned  with  the  first  and  second 
books  of  the  philosophic  history  of  English  Literature,  The 
Source  and  The  Renaissance.     Doubtless  I  have  omitted  much 


302  ETHICS  OF   LITERATURE. 

in  both  of  them,  to  which  attention  could  have  been  as  profit- 
ably directed  as  to  some  of  its  matter  which  I  have  considered. 
The  work  is  wordy,  and  the  expression  rapid.  Its  seven 
hundred  and  sixteen  two  column  pages  in  minion,  would  make 
more  than  twelve  hundred  such  pages  in  small  pica.  The 
philosophic  historian  descants  upon  the  literary  work  of  Sir 
William  Temple,  to  which  and  to  whom  he  iittributes  a  potent 
influence  upon  the  literature  and  thought  of  the  alleged  classic 
age.  He  quotes  extensively  from  Temple's  Essay  upon  the 
Ancient  and  Modern  Learning,  his  classification  of  some  of  the 
remotely  ancient  sages  and  their  works,  and  says,  "Fine 
rhetoric  truly;  it  is  sad  that  a  passage  so  aptly  termed  should 
cover  so  many  stupidities.  All  this  appeared  very  triumphant; 
and  the  universal  applause  with  which  this  fine  oratorical  bom- 
bast was  greeted  demonstrates  the  taste  and  the  culture,  the 
hollowness  and  the  politeness,  ol  the  elegant  world  of  which 
Temple  was  the  marvel,  and  which  like  Temple,  loved  only 
the  varnish  of  truth."  This  is  immediately  followed  by  the 
fourth  section  of  the  chapter,  beginning  thus,  "Such  were  the 
ornate  and  polished  manners  which  gradually  pierce  through 
debauchery  and  assume  the  ascendant.  Gradually  the  current 
grows  clearer,  and  marks  out  its  course,  like  a  stream,  which, 
forcibly  entering  a  new  bed,  moves  with  difficulty  at  first 
through  a  heap  of  mud.  then  pushes  forward  its  still.murky  wat- 
ers which  are  purified  little  by  little."  Having  ridiculed  Milton's 
metaphor  in  metaphor  which  puts  Milton's  to  shame,  he  now 
ridicules  Temple's  oratorical  bombast  in  bombast  in  comparison 
with  which  Temple's  is  tame.  His  reflection  on  the  literary 
taste  which  had  greeted  Temple  with  applause,  is  even  more 
applicable  to  that  which  makes  his  own  philosophic  history  a 
literary  commodity,  or  even  possibility.  The  alleged  stupidities 
which  he  regrets  that  Temple's  fine  rhetoric  covers,  were  in 
Temple's  time  generally  accepted  as  historical  truths.  One  of 
thern  was  (his  contending  for)  the  authenticity  of  Aesop's 
Fables  and  The  Letters  of  Phalaris ;  the  former  of  which  the 
philosophic  historian  calls  a  dull  Byzantine  compilation,  and 
the  latter  a  wretched  sophistical  forgery.  Assertion  is  not 
argument. 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  3O3 

I  doubt  that  there  is  anything  really  more  unphilosophical, 
in  all  the  tenets  of  the  philosophic  history  of  English  Literature 
than  the  proposition  that  the  rot  expressing  the  foibles  and  cap- 
rices of  a  few  poetasters,  were  true  indexes  to  the  general  tone 
of  thought.  Adverting  to  the  rhymes  of  one  Edmund  Waller, 
and  having  quoted  some  verses  in  which  the  rhymester  likens 
his  Amoret  to  something  good  to  eat  and  drink,  the  philosophic 
historian  says,  "The  English  background  crops  up  here  and 
elsewhere ;  for  example  the  beautiful  Sacharissa,  having  ceased 
to  be  beautiful,  asked  Waller  if  he  would  again  write  verses  for 
her  :  'Yes,  madame.'  he  answered  'when  you  are  once  more  as 
young  and  handsome  as  you  were.'"  And  this  alleged  poet  is 
said  to  have  been  "celebrated  as  one  of  the  refiners  of  English 
poetry."  If  he  refined  it,  it  must  have  been  decidedly  coarse  in  its 
crude  state.  Specimens  from  his  pen  selected  by  the  philosophic 
historian  from  the  rhymester's  effusions  to  the  lady  (?)  he  was 
courting  and  hoped  to  marry,  may,  on  account  of  their  being 
so  selected  and  so  effused,  fairly  be  presumed  to  be  among  his 
best.  That  the  reader  may  have  some  idea  of  the  quality  of 
the  crude  article,  1  here  give  the  specimens  of  the  refined  Eng- 
lish poetry,  so  selected  by  the  philosophic  historian. 

"Amoret,  as  sweet  as  good, 
As  the  most  delicious  food, 
Which  but  tasted  does  impart 
Life  and  gladness  to  the  heart." 

The  same  substance  otherwise  labelled,  seems  to  have  had 
an  exhilarating  or  an  intoxicating  effect  on  the  brain. 

"Sacharissa's  beauty's  wine, 
Which  to  madness  doth  incline, 
Such  a  liquor  as  no  brain 
That  is  mortal  can  sustain." 

Let  the  scholastic  reader  try  to  imagine  the  quality  of  the 
poetry  of  which  this  is  a  refinement.  The  intellectuality  of  the 
period  could  not  be  more  scandalized  than  by  establishing  that 
such  rot  was  its  fair  representative  or  exponent.  Was  it  really 
English  in  Waller  to  give  his  goddess  who  tasted  so  good,  the 
ungallant,  not  to  say  uncivil  answer,  that  he  would  again  write 
verses  for  her  when  she  should  again  be  young  and  handsome.^ 


304  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

The  philosophic  historian  says  that  there  is  one  of  the  points  at 
which  "the  English  background  crops  up."  This  brutal  answer, 
and  one  or  two  more  instances  of  Waller's  coarse  wit,  being 
the  bulk  of  what  history  has  preserved  concerning  him,  would 
indicate  that  it  was  so  unusual  as  to  be  noteworthy  in  history, 
and  hence  not  very  generally  English,  not  an  example  of  the 
English  back-ground.  What  a  wretched  state  of  morals  must 
have  prevailed  if  the  characters  in  the  plays  of  Wycherly,  Con- 
greve,  Vanbrugh,  Farquhar,  and  Sheridan,  really  represented  a 
common  sentiment.  On  the  same  principle  with  which  the 
philosophic  historian  considered  Shakespeare's  character,  what 
licentious,  libidinous,  lying  rakes  these  artists  must  have  been, 
if  they  have  impressed  their  own  characteristics  upon  the  men- 
dacious libertines  and  strumpets  they  have  improvised  to  per- 
form the  parts  expressing  the  various  sentiments  pervadingtheir 
plays.  There  are  two  objections  to  the  validity  of  any  such 
psychological  deduction,  or  literary  philosophy,  either  of  which 
is  fiUal  to  it.  First — No  commonly  prevailing  sentiment,  tone 
of  thought,  habit,  or  custom,  would  be  made  the  prominent 
feature  of  drama,  because  it  would  not  attract  attention,  nor 
entertain — to  do  which  successfully,  it  must  be  novel,  or  at  least 
out  of  the  common  run.  While  love  and  villainy  may  be  in- 
dispensable, they  never  appear  in  any  two  plays  alike,  and  those 
which  entertain  and  succeed  the  best,  are  they  in  which  there 
is  most  that  is  startling — at  least  unusual.  Second — It  is  psy- 
chologically impossible  for  any  one  mind  to  have  so  many  con- 
flicting, yet  predominating  sentiments  as  to  be  able  to  construct 
so  many  different  characters,  representing  so  many  different 
phases  of  virtue  and  vice,  candor  and  dissimulation,  courage 
and  cowardice,  and  impart  to  them  its  own  sentiments  and 
characteristics,  or  mould  them  from  introspection.  The  play- 
wright and  the  dramatic  genius  are  alike  powerless  to  so 
variously  express  their  own  real  sentiments,  because  they 
equally  lack  the  variety.  They  have  equal  access  to  the  com- 
mon fund  of  fact  and  fancy,  from  which  the  real  and  improvised 
characters  are  called  forth  to  perform  the  parts  assigned  them. 
And  having  seen  or  heard  of  or  imagined  them,  and  being 
advised  of  or  supposing  their  peculiarities,  they  present  them  in 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  305 

their  vividness  and  intensity,  according  to  their  respective  capa- 
cities to  paint.  It  would  be  a  strange  doctrine  in  psychology 
that  would  require  a  poet  to  thirst  for  gore,  in  order  that  he 
might  have,  or  because  he  did  have,  the  capacity  to  vividly 
present  some  tragedy  in  which  a  cruel  murder  was  the  pre- 
dominant feature;  or  that  would  imply  that  he  was  vilely  lech- 
erous because  he  had  vividly  presented  a  play  in  which  the  lead- 
ing character  was  a  professional  libertine;  or  that  would  brand 
him  with  the  stigma  of  a  thief  because  he  had  propounded  a 
plot  in  which  all  the  parts  converge  to  the  robbery  of  an  heiress 
or  a  miser  or  a  bank.  It  would  be  a  still  stranger  doctrine  in 
psychology  that  would  impute  such  sentiments,  characteristics, 
and  instincts  of  the  people  generally,  because  of  the  popularity 
among  them  of  plays  in  which  such  transactions  were  predomi- 
nant features.  Yet  such  are  the  necessary  results  of  the  argu- 
ment, or  rather  the  assertion,  of  the  philosophic  historian.  It 
is  as  groundless  as  the  declaration  of  the  alleged  radical  revo- 
lution in  thought  and  expression  of  which  he  speaks  in  the 
opening  of  his  philosophic  history,  as  having  wrought  a  com- 
pfete  change  in  history  "in  its  subject  matter,  its  system,  its 
machinery,  the  appreciation  of  laws  and  causes." 

The  second  chapter  of  the  third  book.  The  Classic  Age,  is  a 
rambling,  incongruous  essay  on  Dryden,  his  writings,  his 
place  in  and  influence  upon  literature.  In  the  essay  he  is  now 
debased  below  the  animal,  and  now  exalted  above  all  contem- 
porary genius;  now  puerile  and  now  puissant;  now  remorse- 
lessly vindictive  and  now  magnanimously  charitable;  now  a 
contemptible  wheedler,  panegyrist,  and  imitator,  and  now  a 
proud  spirited  and  candid  connoisseur;  now  a  mere  rhymester 
writing  machine  poetry  for  pay  or  for  presents,  and  now  an 
inspired  minstrel  setting  the  most  profound  literary,  political, 
philosophic,  and  e*cclesiastical  controversy  to  the  grandest 
swells  and  sweetest  strains  of  the  music  of  poetry  to  adorn  and 
ennoble  the  art.  In  short  the  chapter  describes  and  exhibits 
him  in  all  the  intellectual,  moral,  literary,  political,  and  philo- 
sophic colors  conceivable,  and  leaves  the  reader  to  infer  his 
real  character  from  some  extracts  made  from  his  writings  and 
some  anecdotes  of  his  life.     There  is  however  one  very  good 


306  ETHICS  OF   LITERATURE. 

feature  of  this  chapter,  and  it  may  be  said  to  characterize  most 
of  the  chapters  of  this  extraordinary  but  misnamed  book.  Its 
reader  may  behold  an  accurate,  rapidly  moving,  really  fascin- 
ating panorama  of  the  lives  and  manners,  and  many  interesting 
anecdotes  in  the  lives,  of  those  who  have  figured  in  English 
literature  with  sufficient  prominence  to  provoke  the  remark  of 
the  philosophic  historian ;  the  greater  part  of  which  is  omitted 
from  most  modern  general  histories.  The  gravest  objection  to 
it  is  its  assumption  of  philosophic  airs, — its  undertaking  to 
attribute  unaccountable  and  general  results  to  alleged  specific 
causes,  to  reduce  to  a  supposed  system  or  science  that  which 
in  the  nature  of  things  is  no  more  subject  to  human  measure, 
standard,  or  rule,  than  the  temperature,  the  clouds  or  the 
winds.  To  be  sternly  philosophical,  as  the  philosophic  his- 
torian desires  to  be  esteemed,  he  cannot  admit  the  supernatural 
or  divine  inspiration  of  any  literary  production.  If  such  pro- 
ductions are  the  results  of  specific  causes, -if  they  are  colored 
and  materially  affected  by  the  stage  of  civilization  in  which 
they  are  produced,  if,  as  he  says,  they  are  the  results  of  and 
are  varied  by  epoch,  race,  and  clime,  some  one  ought  to  dis- 
pel the  mystery  that  shrouds  the  origin  of  the  philosophy  of 
the  book  of  Job,  of  Solomon's  Proverbs,  of  Socrates'  Dialogues, 
of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses.  An  example  of  the  latter  can  not 
be  objectionable  here, — nor  indeed  anywhere. 

"What  fault  was  in  the  Ox,  a  creature  mild 
And  harmless,  docile,  born  with  patient  toil 
To  lighten  half  the  labor  of  the  fields? — 
Ungrateful  he,  and  little  worth  to  reap 
The  crop  he  sowed,  that,  from  the  crooked  share 
Untraced,  his  ploughman  slew,  and  to  the  axe 
Condemned  the  neck  that,  wore  beneath  his  yoke, 
For  many  a  spring  his  furrows  traced,  and  home 
With  many  a  harvest  dragged  his  autumn  wain. 
Nor  is  this  all:- — but  Man  must  of  his  guilt 
Make  Heaven  itself  acconiplice,  and  believe 
The  Gods  with  slaughter  of  their  creatures  pleased. 
Lo;  at  the  altar,  fairest  of  his  Kind, — 
And  by  that  very  fairness  marked  for  doom, — 
The  guiltless  victim  stands, — bedecked  for  death 
With  wreath  and  garland.    Ignorant  he  hears 


•  CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  307 

The  muttering  Priest, — feels  ignorant  his  brows 
White  with  the  sprinkling  of  the  salted  meal 
To  his  own  labor  owed, — and  ignorant 
Wonders,  perchance,  to  see  the  lustral  urn 
Flash  back  the  glimmer  of  the  lifted  Knife 
Too  soon  to  dim  its  brightness  with  his  blood; 
And  Priests  are  found  to  teich,  and  men  to  deem 
That  in  the  entrails,  from  the  tortured  frame 
Yet  reeking  torn,  they  read  the  best  of  Heaven. 

****** 
All  changes;  nothing  perishes." 

Mere ///^// //('/' of  expression  may  vary  with  change  of  epoch, 
race  and  clime,  just  as  provincialisms  may  sometimes  amount 
to  difference  in  dialect.  But  thought,  the  bone  and  sinew  of 
intellect,  the  substance  and  subject  matter  of  literature,  is  not 
shown  and  cannot  be  shown  to  vary  according  to  any  fixed 
or  ascertainable  rule,  from  any  specific  physical  cause.  Nor  can 
it  be  marked  off  in  provinces  or  departments  to  be  arbitrarily 
limited  by  circumstance,  occasion,  epoch,  race,  or  clime..  If 
those  who  are  act^uainted  with  the  facts  of  history  (of  liter- 
ature or  anything  else)  should  intelligently  and  conscientiously 
narrate  them,  and  keep  to  themselves  their  wordy  wisdom 
concerning  the  innate  causes  df  things,  the  co-operation  of  cir- 
cumstances, the  philosophy  of  history,  the  logic  of  events,  the 
irony  of  fate,  and  all  such  things  as  are  known,  or  rather 
unknown,  by  names  which  are  in  themselves  sententious 
apothegms,  they  would  render  a  more  desirable  and  more  val- 
uable service  than  by  making  such  history  a  mere  vehicle  in 
which  to  promulgate  a  fancied  philosophy. 

The  third  chapter  of  the  third  book,  is  a  succession  of  fusi- 
lades  of  literary  sky-rockets,  and  closes  in  likening  the  French 
and  English  war  of  1793  to  a  collision  and  explosion  of  steam 
engines.  Some  vivid  representations  of  memorable  scenes  in 
English  politics  and  parliament  are  presented ;  and  some  inter- 
esting reminiscences  of  Junius,  Chatham,  Fox,  Pitt,  Burke  and 
Sheridan  are  recalled.  The  French  and  English  alleged  national 
spirits,  or  their  alleged  respective  civilizations  are  contrasted, 
and  their  alleged  collision  is  mysteriously  attributed  to  some 
occult  fatality,  as  distinguished  from  chance.     Its  relation  to  or 


308  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

effect  upon  English  literature  is  not  apparent.  The  learning 
eloquence,  sagacity,  and  political  philosophy  of  the  English 
statesmen,  may  have  borne  some  kind  of  relation  to,  have 
affected,  or  been  affected  by  the  main  subject  of  the  philosophic 
history;  but  certainly  not  in  such  manner  as  to  justify  the  meta- 
phorical enigma  in  which  the  chapter  closes.  Of  the  alleged 
collision  of  the  two  alleged  civilizations,  the  philosophic  histor- 
ian says,  "It  was  not  the  collision  of  the  two  governments,  but 
of  the  two  civilizations  and  the  two  doctrines.  The  two  vast 
machines,  driven  with  all  their  momentum  and  velocity,  met 
face  to  foce,  not  by  chance,  but  by  fatalitv.  A  whole  age  of 
literature  and  philosophy  had  been  necessary  to  amass  the  fuel 
which  filled  their  sides,  and  laid  down  the  rail  which  guided 
their  course.  In  this  thundering  clash,  amid  these  ebullitions 
of  hissing  and  fiery  vapor,  in  these  red  flames  which  licked  the 
boilers,  and  whirled  with  a  rumbling  noise  upwards  to  the 
heavens,  an  attentive  spectator  may  still  discover  the  nature 
and  accumulation  of  the  force  which  caused  such  an  outburst, 
dislocated  such  iron  plates,  and  strewed  the  ground  with  such 
ruins."  In  what  can  the  attentive  spectator  discover  the 
nature  and  accumulation  of  the  force  which  caused  such  an 
outburst  of  metaphorical  enigma  ?  When  a  philosophic  solu- 
tion of  a  problem,  literary,  political,  or  historical,  is  offered  with 
apparent  complacency,  as  if  it  were  authoritative,  as  though 
curiosity  ought  to  be  satisfied  and  inquiry  ought  to  end  with 
it.  the  solution  ought  to  be  philosophically  sound  and  sufficient. 
Great  writers  are  not  supposed  to  occupy  much  time  and  space 
saying  nothing,  or  in  making  grandiose  and  apparently  learned 
declarations  or  bombastic  speeches  that  mean  nothing;  and 
their  readers  have  the  right  to  expect  that  they  will  not  do  so. 
The  above  account  of  the  alleged  collision  in  the  last  decade  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  of  the  alleged  two  civilizations  is  neither 
philosophically  sound,  nor  historically  true.  The  French  revo- 
lution, which  really  precipitated  or  caused  the  war  with  Eng- 
land of  1793,  was  simply  the  rebellion  of  plebeian  despair  against 
tyranny  and  starvation.  The  two  nations  had  recently  fought 
for  each  other's  colonial  possessions,  were  generally  quarreling 
over  them,  and  contending  for  national  supremacy  in  the  polit- 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  309 

ical  world.  Difference  in  literature  and  in  literary  proclivity  had 
no  influence  to  precipitate  "this  thundering  clash"  so  graphic- 
ally attributed  to  it.  The  people  of  each  nation  then  numbered 
many  millions,  amongst  whom  very  few  really  knew  or  cared 
what  the  "thundering  clash"  was  for  or  what  had  caused  it. 
Such  seems  to  be  implied  in  the  fact  that  within  a  few  years 
thereafter,  "Under  the  pretext  of  attacking  England,  a  fleet  of 
400  ships  and  an  army  of  36,000  picked  men  were  equipped, 
but  their  destination  proved,  however,  to  be  Egypt,  whither  the 
directory  sent  Bonaparte."  If  the  prevalence  of  a  certain  liter- 
ary sentiment  had  engendered  a  civilization  in  France  so  antag- 
onistic to  that  of  the  English,  as  that  such  a  force  could  be  so 
organized  to  tight  the  English,  the  prejudice  so  engendered  was 
not  very  persistent.  There  is  not  much  philosophy  in  the  prop- 
osition that  a  difference  in  literary  penchant  could  cause  such  a 
difference  in  civilizations,  that  the  latter  would  by  fatality  be 
"driven  with  all  their  momentum  and  velocity,"  and  meet  face 
to  tace  in  a  thundering  clash,  when  such  a  force  raised  in  one  of 
the  nations  ostensibly  to  light  the  other,  could  be  sent  intact 
to  the  subjugation  of  another  distant  nation,  in  no  wise  con- 
cerned in  their  quarrel. 

The  kings  and  councils  of  the  two  nations  of  the  alleged  an- 
tagonistic civilizations  resolved  to  tight,  or  rather  resolved  that 
the  scum  of  the  populace  of  the  respective  nations  should  fight, 
— and  of  course  they  fought.  More  than  five  millions  of  the 
populace  of  one  of  them  had  recently  risen  against  the  oppres- 
sion of  their  own  government,  demanding  bread.  It  had  re- 
quired no  whole  age  of  literature  and  philosophy  to  amass  the 
fuel  (  hunger)  that  filled  their  sides  and  fired  them  to  a  frantic 
resistance  of  systematic  injustice.  What  possible  effect  could 
a  difference  in  literary  proclivity  among  the  few  who  availed 
themselves  of  the  benefits  or  bane  of  literature,  have  upon  the 
tax-ridden  and  priest-ridden  and  starving  millions  whose  revolt 
was  the  French  Revolution  ? — ^who  were  ready  to  follow  even 
their  oppressors  to  war  with  England  or  Egyptian  Mamelukes, 
or  with  any  people,  so  it  brought  pay  and  provisions  ?  Will 
any  one  pretend  that  a  national  spirit  or  sentiment  inspired 
Bonaparte's  tleet  of  400  ships  and  36,000  picked  men  to  invade 


3IO  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

Egypt,  when  they  were  organized  ostensibly  for  another  pur- 
pose? The  facts  of  the  case  are  given  in  the  roaring  rhapsody 
of  Carlyle,  which  he  calls  a  history  of  the  French  Revolution. 
The  general  condition  is  well  illustrated  in  some  of  his  rural 
scences.  Atone  place  he  says,  "The  Traveller,  walking  up 
hill,  bridle  in  hand,  overtakes  a  poor  woman ;  the  image,  as 
such  commonly  are,  of  drudgery  and  scarcity;  looking 60  years 
of  age,  though  she  is  not  yet  28.  They  have  seven  children, 
her  poor  drudge  and  she;  a  farm,  with  one  cow,  which 
helps  to  make  the  children  soup;  also  one  little  horse,  or  garron. 
They  have  rents,  and  quit  rents.  Hens  to  pay  to  this  Seigneur, 
Oatsacks  to  that;  Kings'  taxes.  Statute-labor,  Church-taxes, 
taxes  enough — and  think  the  times  inexpressible.  She  has 
heard  that  some  where,  in  some  manner,  some  tiling  is  to  be  done 
for  the  poor;  "  God  send  it  soon,  for  the  dues  and  taxes  crush 
us  down.  *  *  *  '  It  was  thought,' says  Young,  '  the  peo- 
ple, from  hunger  would  revolt,'  and  we  see  they  have  done  it. 
Desperate  Lackalls,  long  prowling  aimless,  now  finding  hope 
in  desperation  itself,  everywhere  form  a  nucleus.  They  ring 
the  church  bell  by  way  of  tocsin ;  and  the  parish  turns  out  to 
the  work.  Ferocity,  atrocity,  hunger  and  revenge;  such  work 
as  we  can  imagine.  *  *  *  Por  long  years  and  generations 
it  ( the  oppression  )  lasted,  but  the  time  came.  Featherbrain, 
whom  no  reasoning  and  pleading  could  touch,  the  glare  of  the 
fire  brand  had  to  illuminate.  Consider  it,  look  at  it  ?  The 
widow  is  gathering  nettles  for  her  children's  dinner;  a  per- 
fumed Seigneur,  delicately  lounging  in  the  Oeil  de  Boeuf,  has  an 
alchemy  whereby  he  will  extract  from  her  the  third  nettle,  and 
name  it  Rent  and  Law."  What  had  literature,  French  or  En- 
glish, or  any  difference  between  the  two  literatures  to  do  with 
precipitating  the  great  revolt,  or  preparing  the  minds  of  the 
hungry  hordes  for  it  f  Their  minds  were  prepared  for  it  by 
bare  backs  and  empty  stomachs.  The  whole  age  of  literature 
and  philosophy  which  the  philosophic  historian  says  "  had  been 
necessary  to  amass  the  fuel  which  filled  their  sides,"  those  of 
the  alleged  two  civilizations,  was  simply  "  long  years  and  gen- 
erations" of  oppression  and  hunger  which  had  been  irn-neces- 
sary,  but  which  had  brutalized  the  instincts  of  the  French  popu- 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  }  I  I 

Ince,  had  bared  their  bodies,  emptied  their  stomachs,  and 
"  filled  their  sides  "  with  spleen.  And  when  they  overthrew 
the  tyranny,  and  went  from  oppression  to  extreme  Republican- 
ism, the  English  government  (  perhaps  not  quite  so  oppressive) 
not  the  English  people,  dreaded  the  influence*  of  republicanism 
in  such  close  proximity  on  her  own  plebeian  masses,  and  re- 
fused to  recognize  the  new  Republic  as  the  rightful  government 
in  France.  This  is  what  authentic  history  says  was  the  cause 
of  the  "thundering  clash"  of  the  alleged  two  civilizations. 
Then  it  was  the  collision  of  the  two  governments,  if  France  had 
a  government  when  she  declared  war  in  1793.  Some  examples 
cited  by  the  philosophic  historian  himself  will  sustain  this  pro- 
position, and  are  incompatible  with  the  idea  that  the  minds  of 
a  people  may  be  so  unified  as  to  constitute  a  national  mind  or 
sentiment.  Yet  such  effect  must  be  attained  before  the  litera- 
ture of  a  nation  can  be  influential  to  plunge  a  people  willingly 
and  wittingly  into  a  war.  Unless  they  willingly  and  under- 
standingly  enter  into  it,  the  fact  that  their  masters  bring  it  on, 
as  the  examples  cited  by  the  philosophic  historian  show  was  the 
case  here,  it  was  not  the  war  of  one  civilization  against  another, 
nor  a  collision  of  two  doctrines ;  it  was  the  war  of  a  few  aris- 
tocrats in  authority  against  the  possible  influence  and  effect  on 
their  own  subjects,  of  republicanism  or  popular  government  in 
their  immediate  vicinity,  not  positively  declared  by  them,  but 
rendered  necessary  by  their  denial  of  the  right  of  the  majority 
in  the  neighboring  country  however  great,  to  throw  off  the  yoke 
of  servitude  and  establish  for  themselves  a  more  popular  and 
freer  government.  It  matters  not  that  the  blood  was  spilled  by 
the  masses — they  knew  and  cared  as  little  about  the  political 
reasons  why  it  was  spilled,  as  they  knew  and  cared  about  the 
physiological  reasons  for  its  circulation.  The  same  examples 
so  cited  show  that  the  literature  of  a  people  is  too  various 
to  be  a  national  literature,  that  it  is  not  so  unified  as  to 
express  a  national  mind  or  sentiment.  The  speeches  of  the 
leaders  in  the  English  Parliament,  the  Reflections  on  the 
Revolution  in  France  arguing  the  alleged  cause  of  property 
against  brute  force,  and  the  alleged  right  of  an  aristocratic 
landed  minority  to  tyrannize  over  an  overwhelming  and  ter- 


312  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

ribly  unlanded  majority,  and  also  that  sanctimonious  Eng- 
land could  not,  or  should  not,  treat  with  unholy  France  as 
pretexts  for  hostilities,  must  have  been  uttered  in  answer  to, 
and  as  refutations  of,  opposite  argument  and  expressions 
of  more  republican  sentiment.  It  is  not  likely  that  their 
fiery  eloquence  and  veheinence  was  unprovoked,  or  that 
the  expressions  of  republican  and  hence  popular  sentiment 
which  provoked  them  was  considered  very  insignificant.  Great 
men  seldom  speak  and  write  in  such  strains  against  no  opposi- 
tion. The  expression  of  opposite  sentiment  was  as  properly 
an  ingredient  in  the  literature  of  the  people  and  nation  as  theirs 
could  be.  in  the  inscrutable  economy  of  nature,  and  in  the  un- 
intelligible caprice  of  fortune,  and  in  the  mad  whirl  of  the  vor- 
tex of  national  and  international  politics,  the  right  does  not 
always  get  to  the  top.  Nothing  could  be  more  visionary  or 
more  illogical  in  point  of  abstract  justice  than  some  of  these 
expressions  of  alleged  English  sentiment.  The  philosophic  his- 
torian represents  one  of  the  oracles  as  saying,  "  We  deny  that 
a  majority  has  a  right  to  make  a  constitution;  unanimity  must 
first  have  conferred  this  right  on  the  majority.  We  deny  that 
brute  force  is  a  legitimate  authority,  and  that  a  populace  is  a 
nation."  He  quotes  him  as  saying,  "A  government  of  five 
hundred  country  attorneys  and  obscure  curates  is  not  good  for 
twenty-four  millions  of  men,  though  it  were  chosen  by  eight 
and  forty  millions.  As  to  the  share  of  power,  authority,  direc- 
tion, which  each  individual  ought  to  have  in  the  management 
of  the  state,  that  I  must  denv  to  be  amongst  the  direct  original 
rights  of  man  in  civil  society."  If  the  right  to  make  a  consti- 
tution exists,  it  must  of  necessity  dwell  somewhere.  If  it  does 
not  dwell  with  the  majority,  they  cannot  confer  it  upon  the 
minority.  If  the  minority  makes  the  constitution,  it  must  as- 
sume the  right  to  do  so  regardless  of  the  will  of  the  majority, 
and  on  the  same  principle,  the  smaller  the  minority,  the  greater 
their  right  to  make  the  constitution.  Logically  traced  out,  the 
right  will  be  found  to  reside  in  one  man,  and  from  there  it  will 
be  traced  out  of  existence.  If  unanimity  was  psychologically 
supposable  it  would  imply  that  all  were  actually  equal,  than 
which  no  supposition  could  be  more  absurd.     If  all  men  are 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  313 

created  free  and  equal,  or,  if  "  not  equal  all,  yet  equally  free," 
who  shall  determine  where  the  right  resides  ?  If  all  are  not  free 
and  equal,  nor  equally  free,  who  shall  designate  the  superior 
and  free  ?  Can  that  be  supposed  to  be  done  with  unanimity  ? 
If  not,  then  unanimity  will  never  place  the  right  either  with  the 
majority  or  minority.  The  right  resides  in  the  whole  people,  to 
be  exercised  by  a  majority,  or  it  does  not  exist  and  cannot  be 
be  exercised  at  all.  If  a  minority  monopolizes  the  freedom  and 
exercises  the  right,  must  it  not  do  so  by  means  of  the  very 
brute  force  so  deprecated  }  Or  worse,  must  it  not  circumvent 
the  majority  ?  Speaking  of  the  English  as  a  people,  such  doc- 
trines never  were  English,  and  the  war  of  179?  was  not  a  col- 
lision between  an  English  and  a  French  doctrine.  The  politi- 
cal oracle  is  as  visionary  as  illogical,  and  the  philosophic  his- 
torian not  to  be  outdone  by  him,  attempts  to  palm  off  the  poli- 
tical chimera  as  an  English  sentiment,  and  give  it  the  importance 
of  a  potent  factor  in  causing  an  unprecedented  national  upheaval 
and  a  disastrous  collision  of  the  two  foremost  nations  in  mod- 
ern Christian  civilization. 

The  fourth  chapter  of  this  third  book  begins  as  follows: 
"  'The  great  and  only  end  of  these  speculations,'  says  Addison, 
'is  to  banish  vice  and  ignorance  out  of  the  territories  of  Great 
Britain.'  And  he  kept  his  word.  His  papers  are  wholly  moral 
— advices  to  fiimilies,  reprimands  to  thoughtless  women,  a 
sketch  ot  an  honest  man,  remedies  for  the  passions,  reflections 
on  God  and  a  future  life.  I  hardly  know,  or  rather  I  know  very 
well  what  success  a  newspaper  full  of  sermons  would  have  in 
France.  In  England  it  was  extraordinary,  equal  to  that  of  the 
most  popular  modern  novelists.  In  the  general  downfall  of  the 
daily  and  weekly  newspapers,  ruined  by  the  Stamp  Act,  the 
Spectator  doubled  its  price  and  held  its  ground.' "  At  the  foot 
of  the  page  where  this  appears,  the  translator  says:  "The  sale 
of  the  Spectatot  was  considerably  diminished  through  its  forced 
increase  of  price,  and  it  was  discontinued  in  17 13,  the  year  after 
the  Stamp  Act  was  passed."  Either  of  these  writers  might 
well  have  known  the  fact.  If  the  circulation  and  popularity  of 
the  Spectator  was  a  literary  fact  of  such  consequence  as  to  de- 
serve a  place  in  a  philosophic  history  of  literature,  it  certainly 


314  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

ought  to  be  accurately  stated.  As  the  philosophic  history  was 
written  in  1864,  and  translated  in  1872,  neither  of  these  writers 
is  excusable  for  misstatement  of  such  fiict.  It  was  written  as  an 
illustration  and  evidence  of  the  alleged  sombreness  of  the  most 
generally  prevailing  sentiment  in  England.  But  if  the  fact  itself 
were  otherwise  than  as  written,  the  literary  philosophy  based 
upon  it  cannot  be  very  sound.  The  alleged  phenomenal  popu- 
larity of  the  periodical  is  learnedly  attributed  to  the  alleged  fact 
that  "it  offered  to  Englishmen  the  picture  of  English  reason: 
the  talent  and  teaching  were  in  harmony  with  the  needs  of  the 
age  and  country."  If  this  were  true,  then  the  government 
which  suppressed  it  was  not  in  "harmony  with  the  needs  of 
the  age  and  country."  And  as  the  Stamp  Act  could  only  be- 
come a  law  with  the  consent  of  the  Commons  elected  to  Par- 
liament by  popular,  almost  universal  suffrage,  it  must  have  been 
in  accord  with  the  most  generally  prevailing  sentiment  in  Eng- 
land, or  at  least  with  the  approval  of  those  professing  to  voice 
that  sentiment,  that  the  Stamp  Act  became  a  political  fact,  and 
the  death  of  the  Spectator  unlamented,  became  a  literary  fact. 
If  it  were  known  to  offer  to  Englishmen  the  picture  of  English 
reason,  if  its  talent  and  teaching  were  known  to  be  in  harmony 
with  the  needs  of  the  age  and  country,  and  if  this  were  known 
by  the  representatives  in  Parliament  of  the  great  masses  of  Eng- 
lishmen, they  were  outrageously  false  to  the  trust  reposed  in 
in  them.  History  does  not  inform  us  of  any  indignation  at  the 
measure  outside  of  Grubb  street.  The  inference  is  that  the 
Spectator  had  not  offered  to  Englishmen  a  true  picture  of  a  very 
general  English  reason.  And  in  point  of  fact,  or  reason,  some 
examples  of  its  reasoning  given  by  _the  philosophic  historian, 
would  justify  its  suppression;  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  of 
their  unreasonableness.  For  instance, — "He  consoles  a  woman 
who  has  lost  her  sweetheart,  by  showing  her  the  misfortunes  of 
so  many  other  people  who  are  suffering  the  greatest  evils  at  the 
same  time.  *  *  *  He  rests  virtue  on  interest  rightly  under- 
stood." But  in  these  the  philosophic  historian  says  that  Addi- 
son "falls  short  of  philosophic  life."  And  indeed  he  does.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  conceive  a  more  despicable  spirit  than  one 
that  so  enjoys  the  wretchedness  of  others  as  to  forget  its  own  in 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION,    AND   METAPHOR.  315 

contemplation  of  theirs.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  the 
wretchedness  of  others  could  otherwise  heal  one's  own.  It  is 
difficult  to  conceive  a  more  despicable  selfishness  than  that  of 
one  who  would  be  virtuous  for  interest,  either  rightly  or 
wrongly  understood.  Such  alleged  virtue  is  a  contradiction. 
If  virtue  is  not  its  own  reward  it  is  because  it  is  incompatible 
with  the  idea  of  reward.  The  really  virtuous  are  such  solely 
for  the  abstract  good  of  virtue.  The  moment  interest  is  con- 
sulted and  the  idea  and  hope  of  reward  are  entertained,  selfish 
motives  prevail,  calculation  begins ;  and  if  interest  as  understood 
could  otherwise  be  promoted,  virtue  might  go — a  good  rid- 
dance. It  is  not  a  very  ennobling  conception  of  the  soul,  to 
fancy  it  figuring  on  the  probabilities  of  conduct  with  a  view  to 
its  own  interest  of  any  kind.  The  proposition  is  analagous  to 
the  threadbare  contradictory  proverb  that  honesty  is  the  best 
policy.  Whoever  would  be  honest  from  policy,  would  be  dis- 
honest were  it  better  policy.  Policy  is  poisonous  to  honesty ; 
interest  is  no  less  poisonous  to  virtue.  It  is  no  answer  to  say 
that  genuine  ultimate  interest  could  not  be  better  promoted 
than  by  being  virtuous.  This  would  be  mere  assertion.  No 
human  being  has  yet  ascertained  just  what  is  his  genuine  ulti- 
mate interest.  Among  those  of  generally  recognized  ability 
there  is  great  difference  of  opinion  as  to  what  it  is.  But  there 
are  certain  inflexible  rules  of  thought,  according  to  which  it  is 
impossible  to  imagine  that  one  would  be  virtuous  because  he 
believes  it  to  be  to  his  interest;  without  also  imagining  that  he 
would  be  vicious  if  he  believed  //  would  be  to  his  interest.  So 
the  proposition  that  one  could  not  better  promote  his  genuine 
ultimate  interest  than  by  being  virtuous,  besides  being  mere 
assertion,  involves  a  psychological  impossibility. 

In  the  fourth  section  of  this  chapter  the  philosophic  histo- 
rian, disagreeing  with  Addison's  theology,  says,  "We  ought 
not  to  try  and  overdefine  God ;  religion  is  rather  a  matter  of 
feeling  than  of  science;  we  compromise  it  by  exacting  too  rig- 
orous demonstrations,  and  too  precise  dogmas."  I  do  not 
remember  having  seen  a  sounder  philosophical  proposition  than 
this.  If  there  is  a  legitimate  basis  for  the  science  of  psychology, 
if  the  science  is  not  a  mere  travesty  upon  bona  fide  reasoning, 


3l6  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

religion  certainly  is  rather  a  matter  of  feeling  than  of  science, 
and  the  proposition  expresses  "more  true  religion  than  all  the 
dogmatic  theology  ever  written."  Certainly  no  one  would 
maintain  that  a  religion  could  be  a  religion  devoid  of  candor  and 
humility.  No  one  could  maintain  that  a  science  could  be  a  sci- 
ence devoid  of  knowle^e;  or  that  it  could  legitimately  rest  to 
any  extent  on  faith.  It  must  rest  on  demonstration,  and  none 
of  its  tenets  or  propositions  not  so  sustained  ought  to  be  toler- 
ated. Even  psychology  which  is  the  most  recondite  of  all  sci- 
ences, must  be  based  on  demonstration  to  entitle  its  tenets  to 
credit.  As  to  any  one  subject,  forming  a  distinct  sdbject  matter 
of  any  science,  there  can  be  but  one  true  science.  Hence  if 
religion,  or  to  be  more  accommodating,  if  theology  is  a  science, 
or  a  subject  matter  of  a  science,  there  can  be  but  one  true  reli- 
gion or  theology;  and  its  principles  and  their  operation  must  be 
uniform  in  all  climes  and  in  all  minds.  The  principles  of  all 
sciences  which  are  really  known  to  be  sciences,  are  the  same 
the  world  over,  or  at  least  so  far  over  the  world  as  they  are 
known.  They  operate  at  the  equator  as  at  the  arctic  circle. 
Gravitation,  heat,  light,  and  thought,  vary  in  operation  only  as 
they  are  variously  affected  in  place.  Unless  the  superiority  of 
one  scientitk  doctrine  over  others  is  demonstrable  on  principles 
universally  known  to  be  sound,  or  irrefragable  in  themselves,  it 
is  more  dogmatic  than  philosophic  to  claim  for  it  a  superiority, 
to  say  nothing  of  an  exclusive  validity  or  genuineness.  Differ- 
ence in  religious  opinion  and  doctrine,  however  minute,  is  still 
difference,  and  necessarily  implies  conflict.  Wherever  it  pre- 
vails it  necessarily  implies  the  invalidity  of  one  or  the  other  of 
the  doctrines.  Scientifically,  if  any  one  doctrine  is  true,  all 
conflicting  doctrines  are  untrue.  These  differences  not  only 
prevail  among  all  religions;  they  characterize  all  subdivisions  of 
ecclesiastical  society  in  each  religion.  There  are  no  data  physi- 
sical  or  psychical  on  which  any  incontestable  and  universal 
principle  can  be  established  that  could  be  trusted  as  a  test  of  the 
validity  of  any  religion,  or  of  any  one  of  the  variant  doctrines 
of  any  religion.  Properly  speaking,  there  can  be  no  science  in 
which  there  are  not  principles,  according  to  which  every  ques- 
tion that  can  legitimately  arise  therein  can  be  satisfactorily  set- 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  317 

tied.  Psychologically  and  philosophically  there  can  be  no  eva- 
sion of  these  propositions.  Candor  requires  the  concession  or 
their  force.  Humility  forbids  the  egotistical  attempt  on  one's 
mere  ipsi  dixit  to  erect  an  alleged  religious  system  incompat- 
ible at  any  point  with  their  operation.  To  do  so  the  religion 
would  be  a  mere  evasion,  based  on  a  palpable  subterfuge.  It 
takes  all  the  dignity  and  sanctity  out  of  religion  to  require  it  to 
account  for  itself  on  philosophic  or  scientific  principles  which 
are  within  the  comprehension  of  a  mere  human  being.  It  is 
purely  a  matter  of  faith,  blind  and  unquestioning,  and  the  phil- 
osophic historian  has  truly  said  "it  is  the  heart  which  sees 
heaven." 

In  the  account  of  Dean  Swift  he  is  represented  as  the  sad- 
dest, the  maddest,  the  most  acrimonious  and  malignant  egotist 
of  all  writers,  and  still,  as  being  a  great  moral  teacher,  indeed  a 
supremely  practical  philosopher.  His  arrogance,  his  incisive 
irony,  and  his  coarse  brutality  are  represented  as  being  so  ex- 
travagant as  to  attract  by  means  of  their  very  absurdity.  The 
account  is  interesting,  but  the  Dean's  peculiarities  are  exagger- 
ated, and  an  inexcusable  blunder  is  made  in  characterizing  them 
as  typically  English.  The  truth  is  Swift's  writings  imply  that 
he  was  a  literary  monstrosity,  a  remarkably  gifted  lunatic, 
whose  frenzy  seems  to  have  been  aggravated  if  not  caused  by 
the  fact  that  he  was  not  esteemed  so  highly  by  those  whose 
favor  he  once  aspired  to  as  he  thought  he  deserved  to  be.  He 
was  more  bitterly  sarcastic  than  Carlyle,  because  he  was  en- 
dowed with  greater  genius,  and  was  by  nature  more  vindic- 
tive. They  were  each  very  cordial  haters,  Swift  being  the  more 
intense  of  the  two,  and  having  what  he  seemed  to  regard  as 
great  grievances  to  resent.  His  influence  with  the  masses,  as 
exhibited  in  his  opposition  to  an  issue  of  copper  coinage,  is 
very  illogical,  except  on  the  hypothesis  that  the  masses  were 
very  willing  to  be  influenced  against  the  measure,  or  were  un- 
able to  distinguish  the  rabid  declamation  from  argument.  His 
writings  are  entitled  to  no  more  consideration  in  an  estimate,  or 
philosophic  history  of  English  literature,  than  the  buffoonery 
and  blasphemy  of  the  stews,  or  the  ravings  of  the  rioters  or  of  the 
madhouse.     There  is  nothing  essentially  English  in  or  about 


3l8  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

them.  They  are  scholarly,  and  it  must  be  admitted,  pertinent 
expressions  of  irony,  scorn,  rancor,  in  which  the  more  malign- 
ant the  hatred,  the  more  genteel  and  polished  the  style. 

It  is  strange  that  a  philosophic  historian  of  the  literature  of  a 
nation  would,  through  five  hundred  pages  of  his  philosophic 
history,  his  literary  classification,  generalization  and  metaphor, 
insist  that  there  was  such  an  entity  as  a  national  English  mind, 
indigenous  to  the  Island  and  its  climate,  and  that  it  was  essen- 
tially sombre  and  addicted  to  Puritanism  or  some  gloomy 
form  of  religion,  and  then  in  considering  the  nauseous  rant  of 
Matthew  Prior,  and  assigning  it  and  him  their  place  in  the 
alleged  national  literature  and  system  of  thought,  declare  that 
"the  whole  armory  of  the  skeptic  was  built  and  furnished  in 
England  when  the  French  took  to  it.  Voltaire  has  only  selected 
and  sharpened  the  arrows."  The  English  generally  claim  the 
distinction  of  being  the  pioneers  in  an  alleged  modern  civiliza- 
tion. The  philosophic  historian  seems  disposed  to  load  them 
with  the  doubtful  honor  of  bein^  the  pioneers  in  an  alleged 
skepticism.  He  seems  to  be  also  disposed  to  give  Voltaire  a 
distinction  in  that  behalf  which  he  never  courted.  His  life 
work  was  a  prolonged  and  in  some  measure  successful  protest 
against  superstition,  but  he  was  as  far  from  skepticism  as  the 
most  fanatical  Puritan  that  ever  affected  the  nasal  twang.  He 
was  never  more  irreverent  in  his  treatment  of  sacred  subjects 
than  the  lionized  and  canonized  leader  of  the  reformation,  who 
is  quoted  by  the  philosophic  historian  as  having  said, — "When 
Jesus  Christ  was  born,  he  doubtless  cried  and  wept  like  other 
children,  and  his  mother  tended  him  as  other  mothers  tend  their 
children.  As  he  grew  up  he  was  submissive  to  his  parents, 
and  waited  on  them,  and  carried  his  supposed  father's  dinner  to 
him ;  and  when  he  came  back,  Mary  no  doubt  oftefi  said,  'My 
dear  little  Jesus,  where  hast  thou  been?'  " 

Speaking  of  Vv'hat  he  seems  to  regard  a  violent  revolution 
in  thought,  and  attributing  its  possibility  to  the  fact  that  there 
were  certain  people  Inhabiting  a  certain  part  of  the  continent 
of  Europe  who  were  called  Germans,  and  that  they  used  a  cer- 
tain language  called  the  German,  the  philosophic  historian  says, 
"These  simple  folk  who  smoked  and  warmed  themselves  by  a 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION   AND   METAPHOR.  )\q 

Stove,  and  seemed  fit  only  to  produce  learned  editions,  became 
suddenly  the  promoters  and  leaders  of  human  thought.  No 
race  has  such  a  comprehensive  mind;  none  is  so  well  adapted 
for  lofty  speculation.  We  see  it  in  their  language,  so  abstract, 
that  away  from  the  Rhine  it  seems  an  unintelligible  jargon. 
And  yet  thanks  to  this  language,  they  attained  to  superior 
ideas."  Is  it  not  a  little  remarkable  that  a  philosopher  would 
hold  that  one  language  could  have  a  peculiar  efficacy  in  enab- 
ling its  users  to  attain  to  superior  ideas  ?  Do  the  Germans 
think  with  the  tongue  and  pen  ?  Was  any  idea  ever  conceived 
by  a  German  that  could  not  be  expressed  in  English  or  French  ? 
The  philosophic  historian  says  there  is  no  exact  equivalent  in 
the  French  language  for  the  English  word  humor.  Yet  he 
gives  us  some  humorous  instances  of  the  humor  of  French- 
men. One  example  will  suffice,  taken  from  Chapter  i,  of 
Book  III.  "The  Count  de  Grammont  has  too  much  wit  to 
love  an  orgie.  *  *  *  One  day,  being  penniless,  he  fleeces 
the  Count  de  Cameran  at  play.  Could  Grammont,  after  the 
figure  he  once  cut,  pack  off  like  any  common  fellow  ?  By  no 
means;  he  is  a  man  of  feeling;  he  will  maintain  the  honor  of 
France.  He  covers  his  cheating  at  play  with  a  joke;  in  reality 
his  notions  of  property  are  not  over  clear.  He  regales  Cameran 
with  Cameran's  own  money;  *  *  *  "  |  ,-e(-all  another 
example,  as  pithy  and  pungent  and  at  the  same  time  as  decor- 
ous as  anything  so  nearly  sarcastic  could  be,  a  kind  of  grim 
humor.  "Rousseau,  in  the  pride  of  a  poet's  heart  at  meeting 
an  appreciative  listener,  read  to  him  a  poem  he  had  just  finish- 
ed, an  'Ode  to  Posterity.'  Voltaire  expressed  a  doubt  'whether 
it  would  reach  its  address.'"  If  there  were  many  words  in  the 
German  language  for  which  there  is  no  exact  equivalent  in  the 
English,  the  fact  would  not  enable  the  Germans  to  attain  to 
ideas  superior  to  those  attainable  by  the  English.  It  might 
enable  them  to  express  their  ideas  more  elegantly,  but  1  notice 
different  English  translators  of  the  writings  of  the  same  German 
author  give  substantially  the  same  interpretations  of  the  same 
passages  in  terms  widely  difierent.  It  cannot  be  a  very  sound 
philosophic  proposition  that  "these  simple  folk  who  smoked 
and  warmed  themselves  by  a  stove,"  should  suddenly  become 


320  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

the  promoters  and  leaders  of  human  thought  on  account  of  any 
supposed  psychological  magic  of  their  language.  Unless  the 
language  itself  was  suddenly  formed,  or  had  suddenly  acquired 
its  peculiar  property,  neither  of  which  appears  to  have  been  the 
case,  the  philosophic  historian  should  have  explained  why 
"these  simple  folk"  had  not  always  been  the  promoters  and 
leaders  of  human  thought, — at  least  why  they  had  not  been 
such  while  they  had  such  language,  or  while  it  had  such  pecul- 
iar property.  The  use  of  the  word  suddenly  in  this  learned 
proposition  renders  some  such  explanation  essential  to  its  phil- 
osophy. If  the  Germans  have  suddenly  become  the  promoters 
and  leaders  of  human  thought,  to  attribute  such  effect,  or  their 
attainment  to  superior  ideas,  to  any  peculiarity  or  property  of 
their  language  is  sheer  nonsense. 

As  before  indicated,  change  seems  to  be  the  ignis  fatuus  of 
the  philosophic  historian.  It  seems  to  float  like  a  spectre  con- 
stantly before  his  mental  vision.  At  one  place  he  says,  "Every 
two  centuries,  amongst  men,  the  proportion  of  images  and 
ideas,  the  mainspring  of  passions,  the  degree  of  reflection,  the 
species  of  inclinations,  change."  What  could  be  more  inter- 
esting than  to  know  the  cause  of  this,  especially  the  cause  of 
such  periodicity  }  Has  he  not  promised  that  in  the  history  of  a 
literature  he  would  seek  for  the  psychology  of  a  people  }  Would 
not  the  psychology  of  a  people  if  there  were  such  thing  and  it 
were  successfully  sought  for  and  known,  reveal  such  cause  ? 
Has  the  philosophic  historian  been  successful  in  his  promised 
search  for  such  psychology  ?  If  so,  why  has  he  not  given  us 
the  cause  of  this  alleged  change  in  the  proportion  of  images 
and  ideas,  the  mainspring  of  passions,  the  degree  of  reflection, 
and  species  of  inclination  } — and  above  all,  the  cause  of  its  perio- 
dicity }  So  far  as  actual  change  is  concerned,  I  have  before 
shown  that  the  most  stable  existence  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted, is  change.  And  that  no  changes  so  sudden  or  pro- 
nounced as  to  be  properly  called  periodical,  occur,  either  in 
history,  literature,  or  thought,  taken  as  an  entirety.  Even  the 
tortuous  course  of  the  philosophic  history  itself  exhibits  no 
abrupt  changes.  True,  there  are  in  it  certain  arbitrary  divi- 
sions, purporting  to  treat  severally  of  certain  alleged  periods. 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND   METAPHOR.  }2l 

during  which  certain,  or  rather  uncertain,  alleged  kinds  of  lit- 
erature and  thought  are  said  to  have  prevailed.  But  if  these 
arbitrary  divisions  were  not  distinctly  separated  from  each 
other,  numbered  and  labeled,  very  few  readers  would  observe 
the  change.  They  might  observe  the  progress  of  the  general 
history  from  The  Source  to  its  Modern  Authors,  and  that  such 
progress  is  not  interrupted  by  its  numberless  incongruities,  nor 
by  its  frequent  direct  contradictions.  But  they  would  never 
suspect  that  at  any  of  the  points  of  its  present  demarcation  its 
author  had  actually  finished  or  quitted  the  consideration  of  one 
subject,  or  one  distinct  part  of  the  general  subject,  and  taken 
up  another.  The  numbers  and  labels  indicate  breathing  spells, 
between  which  the  section  numbers  indicate  brief  respites. 
Having  said  that  there  was,  during  Walter  Scott's  time,  an 
English  national  sentiment,  demanding  that  the  Novel  should 
contribute  to  the  "amelioration  of  man  and  society,"  to  the 
"glorification  of  virtue,  and  the  chastizement  of  vice,"  and  that 
it  should  be  an  "instrument  of  inquiry,  education  and  moral- 
ity;" he  says,  "Side  by  side  with  this  development  there  was 
another,  and  with  history  philosophy  entered  into  literature,  in 
order  to  widen  and  modify  it.  It  was  manifest  throughout,  on 
the  threshold  as  in  the  center.  On  the  threshold  it  had  planted 
^esthetic's:  every  poet,  becoming  theoretic  defined  before  pro- 
ducing the  beautiful,  laid  down  principles  in  his  preface^  and 
originated  only  after  a  preconceived  system.  But  the  ascend- 
ency of  metaphysics  was  much  more  visible  yet  in  the  middle 
of  the  work  than  on  its  threshold;  for  not  only  did  it  prescribe 
the  form  of  poetry,  but  it  furnished  it  v.'ith  its  elements."  But 
long  before  this,  perhaps  so  long  that  he  had  forgotten  it,  he  had 
Bacon  and  Milton  and  numerous  others  propounding  philosophy 
and  history  in  the  literatures  which  he  says  were  the  essential 
products  of  the  moral  conditions  (at  such  times)  of  the  race, 
epoch,  and  circumstance.  No  moral  condition  at  any  time  has 
legitimately  required  any  h/nd  of  literature.  Nothing  legiti- 
mately entitled  to  a  place  in  literature  was  ever  produced  solely 
to  meet  any  such  supposed  requirement,  or  moulded  to  suit  it. 
The  legitimate  substance  of  literature  at  all  times,  under  all  cir- 
cumstances and  moral  conditions,  whether  in  history,  theology, 


322  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

science,  or  poetry,  must  be  candid  expression  of  intelligent  and 
intelligible  thought.  Thought  may  be  in  accord  with  the  re- 
quirements of  a  moral  condition,  but  if  it  should  not  happen  to 
be  so,  the  moment  it  attempts  to  adjust  itself  to  it.  it  stuUifies 
itself,  it  is  no  longer  thought,  but  affectation  and  pretense. 

Doubtless  there  are  very  few  writers  who  have  read  more 
extensively  than  the  philosophic  historian.  But  his  history 
plainly  indicates  that  his  reading  was  of  much  greater  width 
than  depth.  He  has  given  some  fairly  correct  estimates  of  the 
literary  worth  of  the  works  of  some  writers,  and  many  interest- 
ing anecdotes  of  them  and  of  other  historic  celebrities.  Had  he 
contented  himself  with  this,  his  history  would  have  possessed 
an  intrinsic  worth  and  interest  properly  entitling  it  to  a  place  in 
every  library  in  civilization.  But  such  worth  as  it  might  thus 
have  had,  is  dwarfed  or  obscured  or  depreciated  by  the  burial 
of  fact  beneath  great  dunes  of  classification,  generalization,  and 
metaphor,  which  seem  to  be  intended  for  philosophy. 

There  are  very  few  pages  in  the  philosophic  history  on 
which  there  is  not  an  attempt  to  account  for  some  freak, 
having,  or  being  credited  with  having  some  significance  in  liter- 
ature, as  a  psychological  necessity  of  the  epoch,  race,  and  circ- 
umstances. The  souls  of  the  great  and  strongly  impassioned 
writers  are  mercilesslv  anatomized;  and  they  are  made  to  suffer 
from  excess  of  the  same  passions,  are  actuated  by  the  same 
impulses,  and  guided  by  the  same  instincts  which  they  have 
attributed  to  the  prominent  characters  they  depict  in  their  own 
works.  The  attempt  to  account  for  and  define  human  genius 
is  not  only  hopelessly  futile  ;  it  is  audacious.  The  attempt  to 
trace  the  so-called  Norman  literary  Sap  through  all  the  infinite 
and  infinitely  obscure  and  complicated  ramifications,  changes, 
and  modifications  of  the  stock,  to  all  the  infinitely  varied  results 
in  which  it  is  said  to  have  culminated  in  nearly  a  thousand 
years,  is  not  only  hopelessly  futile,  it  is  absurd.  A  thousand 
such  attempts  in  the  same  inflated  style  of  classification  gen- 
eralization, and  metaphor  in  one  volume,  become  tedious.  To 
say  that  Shakespere  was  himself  the  Hamlet  he  has  so  vividly 
painted,  might  be  sufficiently  safe,  if  nothing  was  known  of 
his  character  and  he  had  not  painted  other  characters  very   dif- 


CLASSIFICATION,    GENERALIZATION    AND    METAPHOR.  52  5 

ferent  from  Hamlet  in  colors  fully  as  strong,  if  he  was  the 
Hamlet,  why  A^as  he  not  also  the  Wolsey,  the  Macbeth,  the 
Othello,  the  Falstaff,  theShylock,  the  Timon,  and,  forsooth,  the 
two  Dromios  ?  .  If  Byron  was  the  Corsair  he  was  so  vividly 
painted,  why  was  he  not  also  the  Harold,  the  Manfred,  the  Cain, 
and  the  Faliero  ?  If  it  was  a  specific  moral  condition  of  race, 
epoch,  and  circumstance  that  called  forth  the  Jolly  Beggars,  the 
Address  to  the  Deil,  and  Holy  Wiilie's  Prayer,  was  it  the  same 
moral  condition  that  called  forth  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  ? 

There  can  he  no  such  thing  as  a  philosophy  without  fixed 
principles.  Men  may  change  with  the  varying  whir!  of  time, 
circumstance,  and  occasion;  but  principles  never  change.  If 
there  is  a  philosophy  of  literature,  it  must  be  based  on  princi- 
ples in  themselves  immutable.  On  such  principle  it  cannot  be 
philosophically  maintained  that  any  specific  moral  condition  of 
race,  epoch,  and  circumstance  calls  forth  from  one  and  the  same 
mind  two  forms  of  poetic  sentiment  and  expression  so  opposite 
to  each  other  as  those  of  The  Jolly  Beggars  and  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night.  If  one  of  these  was  a  legitimate  literary  re- 
sult of  a  moral  condition  of  race,  epoch,  and  circumstance,  the 
other  was  not,  because  in  sentiment  they  are  directly  opposed 
to  each  other.  A  philosophy  of  literature  which  furnishes  no 
key  to  the  solution  of  the  problem  as  to  which  of  them  was  the 
legitimate  result  of  the  alleged  moral  condition,  ought  not  to 
affect  the  airs  of  a  philosophy.  If  they  are  both  legitimate  in- 
gredients of  the  literature  of  one  and  the  same  period,  then  no 
such  alleged  moral  condition  ever  in  any  manner  affected  the 
form  and  sentiment  of  any  literature  of  any  period.  Philoso- 
phic principles  could  not  be  so  capricious  and  remain  principles. 

Making  an  illustration  in  the  argument  of  a  psychological 
proposition,  Herbert  Spencer  has  said,  "Print  upon  paper 
having  been  so  widely  instrumental  in  diffusing  information, 
and  the  knowledge  of  ail  the  highly  cultivated  having  been 
mainly  acquired  through  print  upon  paper,  there  has  been  es- 
tablished such  an  intimate  association  between  truth  and  print 
upon  paper,  that  much  of  the  reverence  given  to  the  one 
gathers  round  the  other."  The  illustration  is  capable  of  another 
application.      It    implies   the  too   prevalent   servitude   of  the 


324  ETHICS  OF   LITERATURE. 

human  mind  to  a  slovenly  habit  of  blindly  accepting  whatever 
is  printed  upon  paper  for  whatever  it  purports  or  professes  to 
be.  If  that  habit  were  eradicated  or  overcome,  if  readers  would 
think  as  energetically  as  they  read,  there  would  be  but  little  use 
in  the  world  for  a  great  deal  of  the  learned  nonsense  that  is  now 
imposed  upon  it,  and  which  passes  current,  without  being 
understood,  as  the  quintessence  of  wisdom. 

In  point  of  literary  integrity,  according  to  the  only  suppos- 
ably  legitimate  ethics  of  literature,  it  is  equally  as  reprehensible 
to  assume  philosophical  authority  and  attribute  general  results 
arbitrarily  to  specific  causes,  which  philosophy  unmistakably 
shows  are  not  responsible  for  them,  as  it  is  to  assume  historical 
authority  and  wilfully  or  recklessly  misstate  facts.  It  is  but  one 
remove  from  either  of  these  blemishes  on  literary  integrity,  to 
collate  a  great  magazine  of  important  literary  and  historical 
facts,  and  arbitrarily  classify  them  in  heterogeneous  groups,  and 
generalize  on  them  in  metaphorical  terms  of  high-sounding 
philosophy  which  may  mean  anything  or  nothing,  or  any  one 
thing  as  well  as  any  other.  The  obligations  of  literary  integrity 
and  even  common  veracity  are  violated  in  the  one  case  as  much 
as  the  other,  and  we  have  seen  that  in  each  of  these  respects 
the  author  of  the  philosophic  history  of  English  Literature  is  a 
reckless  offender. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS. 

Genius  Drawing  Upon  Mystery — Question,  Existence  and  Justice  of  Almighty 
Division  of  Knowledge,  a  Vriori  and  a  Posteriori — Purpose  of  Knowledge 
a  Priori  Impossible — Copernicus,  Kant's  Parallel — Proving  Actuality  of 
Objects  Assumed  by  Reference  to  Faculty  of  Assumption — All  Knowledge 
Necessarily  Empirical — Analysis  of  Fourteen  of  Kant's  Postulates — Analysis 
of  Eight  More  of  his  Postulates — Space  and  Time  not  mere  Forms  of  Intu- 
ition, but  Objects  of  Thought—  Representations  of  Space  Must  be  Obtained 
From  Relations  of  External  Phenomena — Primitive  Cognition  Wholly  Im- 
possible— Consciousness  Must  be  Evoked— No  Knowledge  Without  Con- 
sciousness— All  Knowledge  Derived — Time  is  of  Objective  Validity  without 
Regard  to  Phenomena  Other  than  Itself — Things  are.  Regardless  of  Our 
Cognitions  of  Them — Outward  Objects  are  More  than  Mere  Representa- 
tions— Appearances  must  be  of  Things  Appearing — Substance  must  have 
Form  and  Form  must  be  of  Substance — Abstraction  of  our  Subjective 
Nature  Abolishes  Thought,  even  the  Thought  Necessary  to  the  Abstraction 
— Things  Known  Only  by  their  Relations — Thing  as  a  Thing  in  Itself,  Un- 
thinkable— Relations  of  Things  the  Bulk  of  Knowledge — Philosophy  De- 
generates into  Apologetics. 

I  know  of  no  worthier  ambition  than  that  of  Genius,  appar- 
ently conscious  of  its  powers,  in  its  efforts  to  lay  the  domain  of 
mystery  under  contribution  to  the  general  intellectual  advantage 
of  the  race.  It  is  simply  responsive  to  a  universal  yearning  to 
attempt  to  explore  the  unknown  and  unknowable  realms  of  the 
unsubstantial  for  truths  with  which  to  augment  the  common 
fund  of  intellectual  acquisition.  Those  whose  exploits  therein 
have  attracted  most  attention,  and  whose  contributions  have 
done  most  to  elevate  the  tone  of  and  ennoble  human  thought, 
have  generally  looked  back  over  their  achievements  with  a 
doubtful  satisfliction  and  a  vague  suspicion  as  to  their  real 
worth.  Being  themselves  sometimes  puzzled  as  to  the  actual 
purport  of  their  speculations,  it  is  little  surprising  that  their  read- 
ing clientage  disagree  among  themselves  as  to  the  philosophic 
force  of  their  philosophies,  and  even  hesitate  to  accord  them 
moderate  literary  merit. 

Genius  sometimes  so  far  overreaches  itself  in  its  inroads  into 
the  domain  of  profound  guess-work,  that  it  might    have  been 


^26  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

better  satisfied  with  the  results,  if  during  their  attainment  it  had 
proceeded  as  though  it  were  conscious  of  its  weakness.  The 
objective  point  in  most  speculative  philosophy  is  the  settlement, 
scientifically,  of  problems  which  in  the  nature  of  the  human 
mind  never  can  be  settled  to  its  satisfaction. 

The  existence  of  God,  and  if  he  exists,  his  justice,  as  well  as 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  are  either  self-evident  final  facts, 
back  of  which  there  is  no  proof,  and  of  which  none  can  be 
either  required  or  admissible, — or  they  are  hopelessly  insolvable 
and  perpetually  perplexing  problems.  The  experience  of  all 
past  time  very  forcibly  implies  that  they  are  the  latter.  With 
such  problems  human  reason  can  have  no  more  business  than 
it  could  have  in  attempting  to  account  for  the  origin  of  the  ulti- 
mate atoms  of  substance,  or  the  infinitude  of  space. 

One  of  the  most  unsightly  blemishes  on  learned  philosophic 
speculation,  is  the  recklessness  of  the  assumptions  on  which  it 
proceeds. 

in*  order  to  dignify  and  enthrone  Reason  in  unrivalled  intellec- 
tual supremacy,  and  enable  it,  or  make  it  appear  able,  to  solve 
the  most  difficult  and  most  persistent  questions  with  which  the 
mind  was  ever  harrassed,  knowledge  has  been  arbitrarily 
divided  into  knowledge  a  priori  and  knowledge  a  posteriori. 
The  former  is  said  to  pertain  exclusively  to  pure  reason,  that  is, 
reason  devoid  of  everything  empirical;  the  latter  to  be  acquired 
by  experience.  To  justify  this  division  the  greatest  modern 
metaphysician  has  assumed  that  objects  must  conform  to  our 
sensuous  intuition  of  them,  that  is,  that  they  must  be  as  we 
cognize  them,  (a  proposition  in  itself  illogical) — and  that  other- 
wise we  can  have  no  a  priori  knowledge  of  them. 

No  doubt  it  is  true  that  if  our  cognition  of  objects  must  con- 
form to  them,  our  knowledge  of  them  must  be  knowledge  a 
posteriori,  that  is,  empirical,  because  as  he  says  the  objects  or 
their  representations  can  only  reach  us  through  the  senses. 
But  if  the  representation  of  an  object  to  the  sensuous  faculty 
produces  or  is  an  image  of  the  object,  it  would  seem  more  logi- 
cal to  say  that  the  mental  image  (cognition)  of  the  object  con- 
forms to  that  which  produces  it,  than  to  say  that  the  object 
must  conform  to  the  image  which  it  produces.     Logically  the 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  327 

shadow  can  not  be  more  substantial  than  the  substance,  and  it 
ought  not  to  assume  to  create  or  mould  the  substance  by  which 
it  is  cast.  Objects  differently  cognized  by  different  minds 
might  become  very  much  confuse(^  in  contour  and  even  in  con- 
struction, when  beheld  by  many  minds. 

The  department  called  knowledge  a  priori  seems  then  to 
have  been  made  solely  for  the  employment  of  the  supposititious 
faculty  called  pure  reason,  if  it  was  not  established  therefor 
by  the  philosopher,  he  has  zealously  labored  to  amplify  its  range 
in  order  to  worthily  employ  his  favorite  among  the  mental  facul- 
ties. He  says,  "  it  has  hitherto  been  assumed  that  our  cogni- 
tion must  conform  to  the  objects ;  but  all  attempts  to  ascertain 
anything  about  these  oh]QC\.s  a  priori,  by  means  of  conceptions, 
and  thus  extend  the  range  of  our  knowledge,  have  been  ren- 
dered abortive  by  this  assumption.  Let  us  then  make  the 
experiment  whether  we  may  not  be  more  successful  in  meta- 
physics, if  we  assume  that  objects  must  conform  to  our  cogni- 
tion. This  appears  at  all  events,  to  accord  better  with  the 
possibility  of  our  gaining  the  end  we  have  in  view,  that  is  to 
say,  of  arriving  at  the  cognition  of  objects  a  priori,  of  determ- 
ining something  with  respect  to  these  objects  before  they  are 
given  to  us.  We  here  propose  to  do  just  what  Copernicus  did 
in  attempting  to  explain  the  celestial  movements.  When  he 
found  he  could  make  no  progress  by  assuming  that  all  heavenly 
bodies  revolved  round  the  spectator,  he  reversed  the  process, 
and  tried  the  experiment  of  assuming  that  the  spectator  revolved, 
while  the  stars  remained  at  rest.  We  may  make  the  same 
experiment  with  regard  to  intuition  of  objects,  if  the  intuition 
must  conform  to  the  nature  of  the  objects,  I  do  not  see  how  we 
can  know  anything  of  them  a  priori.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  object  conforms  to  the  nature  of  our  faculty  of  intuition,  I 
can  then  easily  conceive  the  possibility  of  such  a  prioriknowl- 
edge." 

Knowledge  a /)r/'on' then  is  a  possibility  only  on  condition 
that  objects  conform  to  the  nature  of  our  faculty  of  intuition, 
if  our  cognitions  must  necessarily  conform  to  the  objects  there 
can  be  no  a  priori  knowledge.  This  is  the  position.  On  the 
authority  of  some  others  of  the  philosopher's  postulates  in  which 


i 


^2ii  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

he  is  equally  as  positive,  and  which  will  be  considered,  one 
illustration  will  suffice  to  demonstrate  either  that  the  position  is 
untenable,  or  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  knowledge  a  priori. 
There  is  no  knowledge  of  anything  a  posteriori  until  an  object 
is  given,  that  is  represented  to  the  sensuous  faculty.  God  is 
not  so  given  or  represented.  If  there  is  any  knowledge  of  Him 
whatever,  it  must  then  be  knowledge  a  priori.  If,  in  all 
knowledge  a  priori,  the  object  must  conform  to  the  cognition  or 
intuition,  then  God  is  purely  a  creature  of  the  multitudinous 
imagination,  degraded  to  the  uneven  level  of  a  capricious  human 
conception,  and  constructed  on  as  many  plans  and  according  to 
as  many  patterns  as  there  are  different  types  of  sensuous  faculty 
or  imagination.  Any  alleged  cognition,  the  validity  of  which 
cannot  be  demonstrated  by  some  means  available  to  the  sensu- 
ous foculty,  cannot  be  more  than  mere  imagination.  The 
necessary  result  is,  that  the  object  (  God )  is  first  assumed  to  be. 
Then  by  an  intricate  and  involved  process  of  reasoning,  the 
assumption  is  assumed  to  be  verified,  or  at  least  corroborated. 
So  far  in  the  process  nothing  is  represented  to  the  sensuous 
faculty,  and  until  something  is  represented,  until  the  object  is 
given,  the  alleged  cognition,  the  a  priori  intuition,  is  necessarily 
mere  imagination.  The  process  cannot  rise  to  the  dignity  of  an 
e.xperience.  The  word  experience -implies  a  process  leading  to 
demonstration,  with  a  possibility  of  certainty  as  its  results. 

The  alleged  parallel  with  Copernicus'  experiment  or  assump- 
tion is  invalid.  He  was  dealing  with  matter  and  motion,  phys- 
ical phenomena,  objects  which  could  be  presented  to  the  sensu- 
ous faculty,  and  he  knew  them  to  be  within  the  range  of 
experience  (physical  and  mental  observation)  and  that  by  such 
means  the  validity  of  his  assumption  could  be  tested.  The  a 
priorist  on  the  other  hand  deals  with  that  which  he  knows 
cannot  be  brought  within  the  range  of  experience  or  sensuous 
demonstration,  with  that  the  very  existence  of  which  he  has 
first  assumed,  knowing  that  the  validity  of  his  assumption  can- 
not be  tested  by  anything  more  trustworthy  than  the  assump- 
tion itself.  He  who  assumes  God  to  be,  deals  with  spiritual 
phenomena  {?)  knowing  it  to  be  beyond  the  range  of  possible 
experience,  observation,  or  sensuous  demonstration;  and  that 


I 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  329 

the  validity  of  his  assumption  cannot  possibly  be  tested  by  any 
means  more  reliable  than  the  assumption  itself,  and  that  any 
attempt  to  sustain  it  by  reasoning  is  only  an  appeal  to  the  rela- 
tive acumen  of  disputants.  I  have  already  shown  (Chap.  7) 
that  in  the  philosophies  of  Socrates  and  Lucretius,  both  the 
affirmative  and  negative  of  the  question  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul  are  conclusively  established  by  strictly  legitimate  and 
unanswerable  argument,  from  unquestionable  data. 

The  proposition  to  arrive  "at  the  cognition  of  objects  a  pri- 
ori,'^ to  determine  "something  with  respect  to  these  objects 
before  they  are  given  to  us,"  implies  great  confidence  in  the 
human  mind.  According  to  the  philosopher's  division  of 
knowledge,  if  the  object  is  given,  knowledge  of  it  is  empirical, 
it  is  knowledge  a  posteriori.  It  would  seem  that  if  the  object 
is  assumed  to  be,  whatever  knowledge  there  may  be  of  it  is,  or 
might  as  well  be,  assumed  at  the  same  time,  and  it  might  pass 
for  the  a  priori  knowledge.  The  objects  of  all  a  priori  knowl- 
edge must  be  assumed  to  be,  and  the  validity  of  the  assump- 
tion, or  even  its  probability,  the  question  of  the  actuality  of  the 
object,  cannot  be  tested  or  determined  by  anything  within  the 
range  of  possible  experience  or  sensuous  demonstration,  because 
the  object  would  thereby  be  presented  to  the  sensuous  faculty, 
and  the  knowledge  of  it  would  then  be  empirical — a  posteriori 
knowledge. 

From  this  it  would  appear  that  the  philosopher  deals  en- 
tirely with  myth  and  shadow,  leaving  fact  and  substance  out 
of  the  account.  To  obviate  this  he  proposes  to  prove  the  actu- 
ality of  the  objects  the  existence  of  which  is  so  assumed,  and 
the  validity  of  the  a  priori  cognitions  or  intuitions  of  them,  by 
reference  to  the  very  faculty  which  has  itself  done  all  this  as- 
suming, And  if  it  can  restate  its  alleged  intuitions  or  cogni- 
tions substantially,  but  in  other  terms,  or  if  it  can  conceive 
something  further  in  relation  to  the  same  objects  without  con- 
tradicting the  first  assumptions,  then  the  philosopher  has  a 
priori  knowledge.  He  first  assumes  that  the  objects  must 
conform  to  our  cognitions: — that  as  phenomena  they  must  be 
as  we  cognize  them,  and  that  we  cannot  know  them  as  they 
are,  that  otherwise  they  have  no  actuality  or  reality  for  us ; 


330  ETHICS  OF   LITERATURE. 

that  in  themselves  they  are  nothing,  so  far  as  we  are  concern- 
ed. Then  assuming  the  ^^///^  of  an  object,  if  he  can  conceive 
it  to  be  clothed  with  such  attributes  as  reason  icoiild  suggest, 
and  which  must  be  such  as  experience  shows  that  analogous 
objects  possess  when  presented  to  the  sensuous  fiiculty,  he  has 
a  prim-i  knowledge.  But  its  inferiority  to  empirical  knowledge 
is  inadvertently  conceded  in  gauging  the  validity  or  propriety 
of  the  attributes  which  reason  ziotild  suggest,  by  the  standard 
of  experience  in  case  of  analogous  objects  presented  to  the 
sensuous  faculty.  Reason  cannot  be  much  superior  to  experi- 
ence if  its  a  priori  knowledge  must  be  verified  by  the  demon- 
strations of  experience,  or  by  comparison  with  them. 

The  philosopher  declares  that  "necessity  and  strict  univer- 
sality are  infallible  tests  for  distinguishing  pure  from  empirical 
knowledge,"  and,  that  "pure  knowledge  a  pnori  is  that  in 
which  no  empirical  element  is  mixed  up."  But  a  difficulty  ad- 
pears.  1  do  not  see  how  one  can  know  the  necessity  and  strict 
universality  of  a  judgment  except  by  some  kind  of  experience, 
observation,  or  sensuous  cognition.  If  these  infallible  tests  are 
themselves  derived  from  experience,  as  they  must  be  if  they  are 
known,  then  there  must  be  some  empirical  element  mi.xed  up 
with  the  alleged  a  priori  knowledge  to  which  they  pertain,  and 
which  they  are  said  to  distinguish  from  knowledge  a  posteriori. 
Even  the  apodeitic  certainty,  the  necessity  and  strict  universal- 
ity of  mathematical  demonstration  itself  is  known  only  empir- 
ically. 

if  objects  must  conform  to  our  cognition  of  them,  our  cog- 
nition, or  rather  our  imagination,  is  the  real  creator  of  all  mate- 
rial objects.  The  quantity  of  matter  cannot  be  imagined  to  have 
ever  been  either  increased  or  decreased.  The  creation  of  an 
object  therefrom  is  simply  arranging  a  portion  of  it  in  a  certain 
form.  So  the  cognitive  faculty  or  imagination  is  an  active  part- 
ner with  the  Almighty  in  the  creation  of  objects,  the  Almighty 
furnishing  the  material,  and  the  imagination,  probably  the  more 
artistic  artist  of  the  firm,  working  it  up  into  objects.  It  would 
not  mend  matters  to  say  "there  are  objects  which  reason 
tJdnh,  and  that  necessarily,  but  which  cannot  be  given  in  ex- 
perience, or,  at  least,  cannot  be  given  so  as  reason  thinks  them." 


I 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  33  I 

If  objects  which  reason  necessarily  thinks  cannot  be  represented 
to  the  sensuous  faculty  so  as  reason  thinks  them,  it  would  seem 
to  be  a  metaphysical  misfortune  for  which  there  is  no  remedy. 
But  1  think  objects  which  cannot  be  represented  to  the  sensu- 
ous faculty  are  more  likely  to  be  creatures  of  imagination  than 
of  reason.  I  do  not  think  we  can  legitimately  assume  the  exist- 
ence of  such  objects,  and  then  excogitate  an  a  priori  knowledge 
of  them  by  simply  viewing  them  from  the  two  different  sides 
as  suggested  by  the  philosopher.  If  his  conception  is  viewed 
"o«  the  one  hand  in  relation  to  experience  as  an  object  of  the 
senses  and  of  the  understanding,  and  on  the  other  hand,  in  re- 
lation to  reason,  isolated  and  transcending  the  limits  of  experi- 
ence, as  an  object  of  mere  thought," — and  "if  we  find  that, 
when  we  regard  things  from  this  double  point  of  view,  the  re- 
sult is  in  harmony  with  the  principle  of  pure  reason,"  what 
will  we  then  have  achieved  }  Unless  the  alleged  principle  of 
pure  reason  is  itself  established,  fixed  firmly  and  forever,  with 
apodeictic  certainty,  and  known  to  be  necessarily  50,  what 
validity  can  be  given  a  conception  by  the  fiict  that  when  it  is  so 
viewed  the  result  is  in  harmony  with  such  principle  }  And 
which  is  it,  the  sense  and  the  understanding,  or  the  reason  and 
mere  thought,  the  validity  of  which  is  to  be  ascertained  in  the 
agreement  to  be  discovered  in  such  comparison  }  If  it  is  reason 
and  mere  thought,  then  reason  is  admittedly  inferior  to  sense, 
and  seeks  to  establish  its  own  validity  by  attempting  to  show 
its  consonance  with  sense.  If  it  is  sense  and  understanding, 
then  the  process  is  worse  than  idle,  it  is  absurd;  because  no  one 
ever  thinks  of  proving  the  validity  of  the  palpable  by  attempt- 
ing to  show  that  it  might  accord  with  the  impalpable. 

If  the  objects,  which  reason  necessarily  thinks  cannot  be 
represented  to  the  sensuous  faculty,  they  are  not.  Or,  if  they 
are,  they  must  be  so  impalpable  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of 
every  mental  faculty,  except  the  imagination.  If  they  are  too 
unsubstantial  to  be  thought  as  material,  or  as  related  to  or 
affecting  the  material,  the  mind  can  never  settle  on  any  fixed 
principle  of  the  reason  which  necessarily  thinks  them.  The 
data  of  all  science  ought  to  precede  the  science  itself  But  the 
philosopher  proposes  to  construct  a  science,  and  then  improvise 


L 


332  ETHICS  OF  LITERATURE. 

its  imaginary  data,  instead  of  constructing  a  science  on  and 
according  to  its  data.  It  would  be  equally  as  philosophical  and 
feasible  to  attempt  to  show  why  reason  necessarily  thinks  its 
imaginary  objects,  as  to  attempt  to  construct  an  a  priori  knowl- 
edge of  such  unsubstantial  material. 

The  mind  beholds  many  of  its  own  operations,  which  to  it 
are  a  kind  of  mental  phenomena.  In  a  sense  they  may  be  said 
to  be  represented  to  the  sensuous  faculty,  and  to  be  intuited ; 
but  certainly  never  a  priori.  The  mind  cannot  know  of  or 
behold  any  of  its  own  actions  except  by  experience.  Intuitions 
of  them  then  must  be  aposferwrt.  Apperception  is  necessarily 
empirical.  It  would  be  equally  as  philosophical  and  feasible  to 
attempt  to  account  for  the  mind's  capacity  to  behold  its  own 
operations,  as  to  attempt  to  construct  or  acquire  an  a  priori 
knowledge  of  objects  whose  existence  is  only  assumed,  espec- 
ially when  such  knowledge  must  be  derived  from  or  by  means 
of  an  alleged  pure  reason,  operating  on  an  alleged  principle, 
the  validity  of  which  cannot  be  tested  by  any  certain,  universal, 
and  palpable  criterion.  If  the  validity  of  the  alleged  "principle 
of  pure  reason"  depends  on  any  accord  with,  or  on  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  results  of  empirical  observation,  then  reason  is  de- 
throned from  its  alleged  intellectual  supremacy,  and  becomes  a 
sort  of  hand-maid  or  hanger-on  of  experience,  and  its  opera- 
tions are  valid  and  authentic  only  as  they  may  happen  to  be 
authorized  or  sanctioned  by  experience.  If  the  validity  of  the 
alleged  "principle  of  pure  reason"  is  referred  to  the  reason 
itself,  then  the  speculator  will  find  himself  reasoning  in  a  cir- 
cle, ascertaining  that  his  assumptions  are  sound,  because  in 
reason  he  finds  them  to  be  sound.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine 
anything  else  upon  which  the  validitv  of  the  alleged  principle 
can  be  said  to  depend. 

In  the  introductory  section  of  the  philosopher's  dissertation 
on  Transcendental  y^sthefic,  there  are  some  proposifions  which 
I  think  deserve  especial  attention.  For  convenient  considera- 
tion they  may  be  quoted  separately,  but  in  their  order,  and 
numbered. 

I.     "  In  whatsoever  mode,  or  by  whatsoever  means,  our 
knowledge  may  relate  to  objects,  it  is  at  least  quite  clear,  that 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  3.33 

the  only  manner  in  which  it  immediately  relates  to  them,  is  by 
means  of  intuition. 

2.  "To  this,  as  the  indispensable  ground  work,  all  thought 
points. 

3.  "  But  an  intuition  can  take  place  only  in  so  hr  as  an 
object  is  given  to  us. 

4.  "  The  capacity  for  receiving  impressions  ( receptivity  ) 
through  the  mode  in  which  we  are  affected  by  objects  is  called 
sensibility. 

s.  "By  means  of  sensibility,  therefore,  objects  are  given 
to  us,  and  it  alone  furnishes  us  with  intuitions. 

6.  "By  the  understanding  they  are  thought,  and  from  it 
arise  conceptions. 

7.  "But  all  thought  must  directly,  or  indirectly,  by  means 
of  certain  signs,  relate  ultimately  to  intuitions;  consequently, 
with  us,  to  sensibility,  because  in  no  other  way  can  an  object 
be  given  to  us. 

8.  "The  effect  of  an  object  upon  the  faculty  of  represen- 
tation, so  far  as  we  are  affected  by  said  object,  is  sensation. 

9.  "That  sort  of  intuition  which  relates  to  an  object  by 
means  of  sensation,  is  called  an  empirical  intuition. 

10.  "The  undetermined  object  of  an  empirical  intuition  is 
called  a  phenomenon. 

11.  "That  in  the  phenomenon  which  corresponds  to  the 
sensation,  1  term  its  matter. 

12.  "But  that  which  etfects  that  the  content  of  the  phenom- 
enon can  be  arranged  under  certain  relations,  I  call  its  form. 

13.  But  that  in  which  our  sensations  are  merely  arranged, 
and  by  which  they  are  susceptible  of  assuming  certain  form, 
cannot  be  itself  sensation. 

14.  "It  is  then  the  matter  of  all  phenomena  that  is  given 
to  us  a  poderiori.  The  form  must  lie  ready  a  •priori  for  them 
in  the  mind  and  consequently  can  be  regarded  separately  from 
all  sensation." 

These  fourteen  propositions  are  essential  parts  of  the  basis  of 
the  Critique  of  Pure  Reason.  There  must  be  fallacy  in  them  if 
there  is  contradiction,  and  there  may  be  fallacy  irrespective  of 
contradiction.     The  form  mentioned  at  No.  13  and  14  may  be  a 


334  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

quantity,  a  quality,  a  tendency,  or  a  condition;  hut  it  must  he 
an  ohject  if  it  can  be  thought  of,  and  it  must  be  thought  of  if  it 
"can  be  regarded"  at  all.  The  word  regarded  as  there  used 
means  thought  of,  or  it  means  nothing.  There  can  be  no  thought 
nor  regard  without  an  object  thought  of  or  regarded.     At  No. 

7  it  is  declared  that  all  thought  must  relate  to  sensibility,  for  in 
no  other  way  can  objects  be  given.  This  irresistibly  implies,  if 
it  does  not  declare,  the  necessity  of  objects  to  thought.     At  No. 

8  it  is  declared  the  effect  of  an  object  upon  the  faculty  of  repre- 
sentation is  sensation.  Then  this  very  form  of  a  phenomenon 
must  be  the  matter  of  a  phenomenon,  that  mentioned  at  No.  1 1, 
and  the  philosopher  errs  in  saying  at  No.  14  that  it  "can  be 
regarded  separately  from  all  sensation. "  The  form  must  be  very 
unsubstantial  if  it  is  too  intangible  to  be  thought  of,  and  the 
philosopher  has  effectually  precluded  all  possibility  of  thought 
without  sensation. 

At  No.  I  it  appears  that  knowledge  can  only  relate  directly 
to  an  object  by  means  of  an  intuition.  At  No.  2  it  appears 
that  intuition  is  the  indispensable  groundwork  of  all  thought. 
At  No.  3  it  appears  that  intuition  can  take  place  only  in  so  far 
as  an  object  is  given.  At  No.  5  it  appears  that  objects  can 
only  be  given  by  means  of  sensibility,  and  that  sensibility  alone 
furnishes  us  with  intuitions.  And  at  No.  8  it  appears  that  the 
effect  of  objects  when  given  is  sensation.  The  necessary  result 
is,  if  the  form  of  phenomena  can  be  thought,  it  not  only  can 
not  "be  regarded  separately  from  all  sensation,'"  it  can  reach 
the  mind  or  be  thought  only  by  means  of  sensation.  It  cannot 
lie  ready  a  priori  in  the  mind. 

At  No.  10  it  is  declared  that  a  phenomenon  is  the  undeter- 
mined object  of  an  empirical  intuition.  This  is  psychologically 
impossible.  An  cmpiricnl  inti'ition  cannot  be  without  an  ob- 
ject. Until  the  object  is  determined  ic  cannot  be  known  to  he 
really  an  object,  and  as  long  as  the  object  is  not  determined 
tl--cre  can  be  no  intuition  of  it.  While  it  may  not  be  indispen- 
sable that  the  object  be  correctly  or  thoroughly  determined,  the 
intuition  necessarily  includes  its  determination,  or  implies  its 
pre-determination.  So  long  as  the  object  is  undetermined  the 
substance  of  the  supposed  intuition  is  necessarily  unknown. 


i 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  ^^'^ 

At  No.  13  it  is  declared  that  "that  in  which  our  sensations 
are  merely  arranged,  and  by  which  they  are  susceptible  of 
assuming  certain  form,  cannot  be  itself  sensation."  This  is  also 
psychologically  impossible.  The  sensations  cannot  be  arranged 
nor  assume  certain  form  in  the  mind  without  some  kind  of 
mental  operation.  There  can  be  no  mental  operation  of  any 
kind  but  originates  in  sensation.  This  is  the  necessary  logical 
result  of  the  above  quoted  postulates  of  the  philosopher,  and 
they  are  irreconcilably  contradictory. 

In  the  same  section  there  are  some  further  propositions  de- 
serving consideration — some  of  them  in  connection  with  the 
above.     They  are  quoted  and  numbered  as  follows  : 

1.  "I  call  all  representations  pure,  in  the  transcendental 
meaning  of  the  word,  wherein  there  is  nothing  that  belongs  to 
sensation. 

2.  "And  accordingly  we  find  existing  in  the  mind  a,  pri- 
ori, the  pure  form  of  sensuous  intuition  in  general,  in  which  all 
the  manifold  content  of  the  phenomenal  world  is  arranged  and 
viewed  under  certain  relations. 

3.  "This  pure  form  of  sensibility  I  shall  call  pure  intuition. 

4.  "Thus,  if  I  take  away  from  our  representation  of  a  body, 
all  that  the  understanding  thinks  as  belonging  to  it,  as  sub- 
stance, force,  divisibility,  &c.,  and  also  whatever  belongs  to 
sensation,  as  impenetrability,  hardness,  color,  &c.,  yet  there  is 
still  something  left  us  from  this  empirical  intuition,  namely  ex- 
tension and  shape. 

5.  "These  belong  to  pure  intuition,  which  exists  a  priori 
in  the  mind,  as  a  mere  form  of  sensibility  and  without  any  real 
object  of  the  senses  or  any  sensation. 

6.  "In  the  science  of  transcendental  aesthetic  accordingly, 
we  shall  first  isolate  sensibility  or  the  sensuous  faculty,  by 
separating  from  it  all  that  is  annexed  to  its  perceptions  by  the 
conceptions  of  the  understanding,  so  that  nothing  is  left  but 
empirical  intuition. 

7.  "In  the  next  place  we  shall  take  away  from  this  intui- 
tion all  that  belongs  to  sensation,  so  that  nothing  remains  but 
pure  intuition,  and  the  mere  form  of  phenomena,  which  is  al! 
that  the  sensibility  can  afford  a  priori 


})6  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

8.  "From  this  investigation  it  will  be  found  that  there  are 
two  pure  forms  of  sensuous  intuition,  as  principles  of  knowl- 
edge a  priori,  namely,  space  and  time." 

It  is  not  essential  to  a  lucid  consideration  of  these  proposi- 
tions that  they  be  taken  seriatim.  If  sensibility  should  be 
isolated  as  proposed  at  No.  6,  "so  that  nothing  is  left  but 
empirical  intuition,"  then  the  space  and  time  mentioned  at  No. 
8  are  a  part  of  this  empirical  intuition.  According  to  No.  9 
among  the  above  quoted  fourteen  propositions  this  empirical 
intuition  relates  to  an  object  by  means  of  sensation.  The  neces- 
sary logical  result  of  the  above  quoted  fourteen  propositions  is 
that  nothing  can  be  thought  except  by  means  of  or  through 
sensation,  so  if  space  and  time  can  be  thought,  the  further  isola- 
tion named  at  No.  7  last  above  quoted,  would  take  them  "away 
from  this  empirical  intuition,"  as  they  certainly  cannot  be 
thought  except  by  means  of  or  through  sensation,  and  they 
could  not  then  be  left  in  the  mind  as  pure  forms  of  sensuous  in- 
tuition. 

The  proposition  at  No.  4  last  above  quoted  is  illegitimate, 
and  the  supposition  contained  in  it  is  not  psychologically  sup- 
posable.  If  we  abstract  from  the  representation  of  a  body  all 
that  the  understanding  can  think  as  belonging  to  it,  and  all 
that  belongs  to  sensation,  there  will  be  nothing  left  of  it,  or  of 
the  empirical  intuition  of  it.  The  understanding  can  think  ex- 
tension and  shape  as  belonging  to  body,  with  as  much  facility 
as  it  can  think  substance,  force,  or  divisibility  as  belonging  to 
it,  and  extension  and  shape  belong  to  sensation  as  appropriately 
as  impenetrability,  hardness,  or  color  belong  to  it.  Indeed, 
neither  extension  nor  shape  of  body  can  be  thought  without 
substance,  and  some  measure  of  force,  nor  without  divisibility ; 
nor  can  the  body  itself  or  any  property  or  attribute  it  could 
have,  be  thought  without  sensation ;  the  philosopher  having, 
as  above  shown,  based  all  possible  thought,  ultimately  but 
absolutely  upon  sensation.  So  extension  and  shape  cannot  b 
in  the  mind  except  as  intuition,  and  "intuition  can  take  plac 
only  so  far  as  objects  are  given  to  us,"  and  "by  means  of  sens 
ibility  therefore  objects  are  given  to  us,  and  it  alone  furnishes 
us  with  intuitions,"     So  the  very  extension  and  shape  which 


1 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  337 

are  said  to  be  left  in  the  mind  after  the  supposed  absti action, 
are  themselves  objects  of  intuition  and  are  given  by  means  of 
sensibility.  Worse  than  this,  the  supposed  abstraction  reverses 
the  natural  order  of  the  process  by  which  the  mind  should  be 
searched.  If  the  alleged  extension  and  shape  are  in  the  mind 
a  priori,  there  ought  to  be  some  other  means  of  ascertaining 
their  presence  besides  merely  finding  them  left  there  after 
everything  else  is  cast  out  by  the  supposed  abstraction.  If 
they  are  not  otherwise  nor  earlier  known  to  be  there,  the  legi- 
timate presumption  is  that  they  come  with  the  residue  of  the 
representation  and  intuition  of  the  object,  by  means  of  the 
sensibility.  No  matter  how  pure  the  intuition  may  be,  if  it 
is  an  intuition  at  all,  it  must  have  an  object,  and  accord- 
ing to  some  of  the  above  quoted  propositions,  the  object 
can  only  be  given  by  means  of  sensibility.  If  extension 
and  shape  possibly  might  be  in  the  mind  as  mere  forms 
of  the  sensuous  intuition  of  other  objects,  the  supposition 
is  not  psychologically  supposable,  and  if  some  of  the  above 
quoted  propositions  are  true,  the  extension  and  shape  certainly 
cannot  be  in  the  mind  a p-iori,  "as  mere  forms  of  sensibility, 
and  without  any  real  object  of  the  senses  or  sensation."  They 
can  only  get  there  by  being  themselves  real  objects,  mentally 
tangible,  and  being  represented  to  the  sensuous  faculty,  or  by 
being  accompaniments  or  attributes  of  real  objects  which  are 
represented  to  the  sensuous  fliculty.  So  if  sensuous  intuition  is 
either  directly  or  ultimately  due  to  sensation,  its  form,  however 
shadowy  and  unsubstantial  it  may  be,  cannot  be  in  the  mind 
without  being  thought, — it  cannot  be  thought  without  being 
itself  the  matter,  or  substance,  or  object  of  ulterior  sensuous  in- 
tuition, the  object  of  the  thought  by  means  of,  or  in  which,  its 
presence  is  detected  or  recognized.  And  according  to  the  philo- 
sopher's own  axioms  above  quoted,  the  very  thought  by  means 
of,  or  in  which  the  presence  of  the  alleged  form  of  sensuous  in- 
tuition in  the  mind  is  recognized,  must  come  from  sensation,  by 
means  of  or  through  intuition,  the  "  indispensable  ground  work 
of  all  thought."  If  the  mere  form  of  phenomena  (space  and 
time)  is  in  the  mind  it  gets  there  by  intuition,  which  "can  take 
place  only  so  far  as  an  object  is  given  to  us, "  it  is  there  a  posteriroi 


3^8  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

and  not  a  priori.     The  severity  of  logic  detracts  nothing  what- 
ever from  its  justice. 

Continuing  with  the  subject  of  Transcendental  Aesthetic, 
the  philosopher  says  : 

1.  "The  representation  of  space  cannot  be  borrowed  from 
the  relations  of  external  phenomena  through  experience;  but  on 
the  contrary,  this  external  experience  is  itself  only  possible 
through  the  said  antecedent  representation." 

2.  "Space  then  is  a  necessary  representation  a  priori, 
which  serves  for  the  foundation  of  all  intuitions." 

"Space  is  essentially  one,  and  multiplicity  in  it,  conse- 
quently the  general  notion  of  spaces,  of  this  or  that  space, 
depends  solely  upon  limitations.  Hence  it  follows  that  an  a 
priori  intuition  (which  is  not  empirical)  lies  at  the  root  of  all 
conceptions  of  space." 

4.  "Space  is  represented  as  an  infinite  given  quantity. 
Now  every  conception  must  indeed  be  considered  as  a  repre- 
sentation which  is  contained  in  an  infinite  multitude  of  different 
possible  representations,  which,  therefore,  comprise  these  under 
itself;  but  no  conception,  as  such,  can  be  so  conceived  as  if  it 
contained  within  itself  an  infinite  multitude  of  representations. 
Nevertheless,  space  is  so  conceived  of,  for  all  parts  of  space  are 
equally  capable  of  being  produced  to  infinity.  Consequently, 
the  original  representation  of  space  is  an  intuition  a  priori  and 
not  a  conception." 

To  intelligibly  consider  these  propositions  a  concession 
must  be  made  of  the  possibility  of  a  palpable  impossibility. 
No  human  mind  ever  conceived  of,  or  had  any  intuition  of 
space.  When  the  mind  has  taken  in  all  of  it  which  can  be 
conceived,  there  is  infinite  space  beyond.  But  for  the  present 
purpose  1  shall  proceed  as  though  the  mind  could  comprehend 
or  conceive  space.  A  representation  of  space  (not  of  part  of  it) 
or  of  anything  else,  if  within  the  receptive  capacity  of  the 
mind,  produces  in  such  mind  a  cognition,  or  an  intuition ;  or 
rather  its  effect  upon  the  mind's  receptivity  is  an  intuition  of 
space,  or  whatever  it  may  be  which  is  represented.  It  is 
already  shown  to  be  idle  to  speak  of  such  a  nonentity  as  a 
representation   without  an  object  represented.     So  the    mind 


< 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  339 

through  its  sensuous  faculty,  which  alone  can  receive  repre- 
sentations, conceives  of  or  intuites  space.  Mind  is  the  subject 
which  by  means  of  the  inexplicable  receptivity  of  its  sensuous 
faculty,  is  capable  of  taking  the  impression,  or  receiving  the 
representation  of  the  object, — in  this  instance,  space.  Space  is 
then  the  object  which  is  represented  to  the  sensuous  faculty, 
by  means  of  which  representation  the  intuition  arises  or  takes 
place  in  the  mind — it  is  represented  to  the  mind,  and  cognized 
by  the  mind,  to  which  nothing,  however  unsubstantial  or  in- 
tangible can  come  except  in  the  form  of  intuition,  from  sensa- 
tion, and  through  the  sensuous  faculty.  Then  the  original 
representation  of  space  is //o/ an  intuition  a  j>i-ion,  but  is  nec- 
essarily an  empirical  intuition,  or  a  conception  a  posteriori. 

The  very  word  representation  destroys  the  philosopher's 
argument.  There  can  be  no  representation  of  space,  original  or 
otherwise,  unless  space  is  the  object  represented  to  the  mind, 
and  of  which  it  has  the  intuition.  It  cannot  be  an  a  priori 
intuition,  because  it  comes  by  means  of  the  representation, 
which  can  only  be  received  by  means  of  the  sensuous  faculty. 
The  representation  could  not  be  so  original  as  that  the  idea  of 
space  could  have  always  been  in  the  mind,  because  if  it  were 
always  there,  there  could  be  no  further  representation  of  it  to 
the  mind.  Besides,  there  is  a  time  to  every  mind  when  it  has 
no  idea  of  space.  "The  capacity  for  receiving  representations 
( receptivity  )  through  the  mode  in  which  we  are  affected  by 
objects  is  called  sensibility."  And  "by  means  of  sensibility, 
therefore,  objects  are  given  to  us,  and  it  alone  furnishes  us  with 
intuitions."  And  "  by  the  understanding  they  are  thought,  and 
from  it  conceptions  arise. "  So  instead  of  being  in  the  mind  a 
'prion,  as  a  "condition  of  the  possibility  of  a  phenomenon,"  or 
as  "the  form  of  all  phenomena,  of  the  external  sense,"  it  is 
itself  a  phenomenon,  and  whatever  idea  of  it  the  mind  has,  is  a 
conception. 

The  proposition  in  the  quotation  number  one  last  above,  is 
an  arbitrary  assumption  without  basis  either  in  fact  or  philoso- 
phy. Representations  of  space  can  be  had  in  no  other  way 
than  in  borrowing  them  ^'from  the  relations  of  external  phe- 
nomena through  experience."     As  I  stated  above,  no  mind  can 


340  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

think  space — that  is,  space  as  an  entirety — all  space  cannot  he 
thought.  The  only  possible  representations  of  space  are  neces- 
sarily representations  of  parts  of  space.  And  parts  of  space  are 
dependent  upon  limitations,  and  representations  of  it  can  only 
come  "from  the  relations  of  external  phenomena."  It  matters 
not  that  the  mind  cannot  stop  at  any  conceivable  limit  of  space, 
but  immediately  thinks  space  further  on.  If  the  mind  cannot 
think  the  whole  of  space  absolutely  and  finally,  it  can  only 
think  part  of  it.  And  the  fact  that  the  instant  it  attempts  to 
think  a  limit  to  it,  more  space  appears  further  on,  is  as  potent 
to  prove  the  impossibility  of  thinking  space,  as  any  of  the  data 
of  experience  can  be  to  prove  any  conceivable  proposition. 
The  mind  has  not  the  capacity  to  receive  any  representation  of 
space,  greater  than  may  be  borrowed  from  the  relations  of  ex- 
ternal phenomena,  and  it  is  impossible  to  think  space  beyond 
possible  external  phenomena.  Representations  of  the  whole  of 
space  being  impossible,  indeed  the  whole  of  space  being  abso- 
lutely unthinkable,  it  follows  that  the  only  possible  representa- 
tions of  space  must  come  from  the  relations  of  external  phe- 
nomena so  far  as  they  are  known  or  thinkable.  And  we  can- 
not have  a  representation  of  it  further  than  that.  We  can 
imagine  space  beyond  known  external  phenomena,  other  than 
the  space  itself,  but  we  cannot  imagine  it  as  necessarily  void  of 
the  external  phenomena,  nor  can  we  imagine  it  except  as  in 
relation  to  external  phenomena,  known  and  supposable. 

At  birth  the  mind  is  a  blank.  It  certainly  has  no  intuition 
of  space  then.  Many  intuitions,  conceptions,  and  ideas  arise  in 
the  mind  long  before  it  thinks  of  space,  or  of  any  of  the  rela- 
tions of  external  phenomena  in  space.  Its  earlier  exercises  seem 
to  be  recognitions  of  physical  pains  and  comforts,  and  in  its 
very  nature  and  constitution  it  seems  to  be  incapable  of  having 
any  idea  except  such  as  are  derived.  It  cannot  have  a  primi- 
tive cognition,  an  original  idea,  nor  an  a  priori  intuition. 

The  fact  that  space,  or  the  idea  of  space,  is  conceived  as 
containing  within  itself  an  infinite  multitude  of  representations, 
renders  it  no  more  an  intuition  a  priori,  and  no  less  a  concep- 
tion a /)05/^7'/or/,  or  an  empirical  intuition.  Literature  may  be 
conceived  of  as  containing  within  itself  countless  works  on 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  34  I 

various  subjects,  and  the  idea  remains  a  conception.  There  are 
many  subjects  represented  to  the  mind,  and  by  it  conceived  of 
as  containing  multiplicity.  Substance  is  conceived  of  as  con- 
taining within  itself  an  inconceivable  number  of  particles,  yet 
the  idea  remains  a  conception.  The  understanding  thinks  it, 
and  the  conception  arises.  There  is  no  psychological  principle 
requiring  that  "  no  conception,  as  such,  can  be  conceived  of  as 
if  it  contained  within  itself  an  infinite  number  of  representa- 
tion." If  a  conception  can  contain  multiplicity  at  all,  and  many 
of  them  certainly  do,  where  shall  the  line  be  drawn  ?  And  by 
what  principle  of  psychologv  shall  the  limit  be  ascertained  ? 

if  "the  receptivity  or  capacity  of  the  subject  necessarily  an- 
tecedes  all  intuitions  of  these  objects,"  space  is  still  no  more  an 
intuition  a  prion',  and  no  less  an  empirical  intuition.  The 
mind  was  primarilv  possessed  of  its  receptivity,  its  capacity  to 
be  affected  by  objects,  or  it  could  never  have  received  and  have 
been  affected  by  the  representations  of  space  itself  There  is  no 
knowledge  without  consciousness.  Consciousness  must  be 
evoked.  It  cannot  be  evoked  without  some  kind  of  change  in 
the  conscious  subject.  Change,  of  which  the  subject  is  con- 
scious, is  experience,  and  knowledge  so  derived  is  empirical 
knowledge.  A  representation  cannot  be  until  it  is  made.  No 
matter  how  ideal  or  intangible  the  object  may  be,  there  must  be 
an  object,  and  it  must  be  represented  before  there  can  be  a  rep- 
resentation. It  cannot  affect  any  faculty  of  the  mind  but  the 
sensuous  faculty.  "Understanding  cannot  intuite,  and  the  sen- 
suous faculty  cannot  think."  The  representation,  whenever 
and  however  it  takes  place,  must  in  some  way  affect  the  sub- 
ject, and  this  is  experience.  It  follows  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  knowledge  a  prion',  and  that  there  can  be  no  other  than 
knowledge  a  posteriori.  Even  if  the  mind  contemplates  its  own 
existence,  condition,  or  action,  past,  present  or  future;  the  exist- 
ence, condition,  or  action  so  contemplated  is  represented  to  the 
mind.  The  philosopher  says  the  mind  could  not  take  any  rep- 
resentation but  for  the  receptivity  of  the  sensuous  faculty.  The 
existence,  condition,  or  action,  so  represented  must  then  be  an 
an  object,  and  the  mind  to  which  it  is  so  represented  must  be  a 
subject,  and  knowledge  accruing  thereby  must  be  a  knowledge 


342  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

a  posteriori;  it  relates  to  the  object  by  means  of  an  empirical 
intuition.  The  philosopher's  definition  of  Transcendental  Aes- 
thetic as  "'the  science  of  all  the  principles  of  sensibility  a  prwH" 
is  thus  shown  to  be  a  contradiction.  It  is  proven  by  an  analy- 
sis of  his  own  postulates.  I  have  assumed  nothing.  1  have 
simply  analyzed  the  philosopher's  own  declarations,  and  applied 
his  own  principles  of  logic  to  them.  He  says,  as  hereinbefore 
quoted,  that  "pure  knowledge  a  priori  is  that  in  which  no  em- 
pirical element  is  mixed  up;"  and  that  sensibility  is  our  capacity 
for  receiving  representations  through  the  mode  in  which  we  are 
affected  by  objects,  when  they  are  given  to  us.  If  this  is  true 
the  phrase  sensibility  a  priori  has  no  meaning  whatever,  and 
the  science  called  Transcendental  Aesthetic  is  a  Nescience. 

Of  time,  the  second  one  of  the  "two  pure  forms  of  sensu- 
ous intuition,"  the  philosopher  says,  "it  is  only  of  objective 
validity  in  regard  to  phenomena,  because  these  are  things  we 
regard  as  objects  of  our  senses.  *  *  *  y^^  cannot  say  'all 
things  are  in  time'  because  in  this  conception  of  things  in  gen- 
eral, we  abstract  and  make  no  mention  of  any  sort  of  intuition 
of  things.  But  this  is  the  proper  condition  under  which  time 
belongs  to  the  representation  of  objects,  if  we  add  the  condi- 
tion to  the  conception,  and  say  '  all  things  as  phenomena,  that 
is,  as  objects  of  sensuous  intuition,  are  in  time,'  then  the  propo- 
sition has  its  sound  objective  validity  and  universality  a  priori." 
It  is  very  difficult  to  understand  just  what  is  meant  by  the  decla- 
ration that  time  "is  only  of  objective  validity  in  regard  to 
phenomena."  If,  by  the  phrase  objective  validity  is  meant  vali- 
dity as  an  object,  it  is  easy  to  perceive  'that  time  can  have  no 
such  validity  except  in  regard  to,  or  as,  a  phenomenon.  To 
have  objective  validity  it  must  be  an  object.  All  objects  pre- 
sented to  the  mind  are  phenomena.  If  time  has  objective  vali- 
dity at  all,  it  is  so  far  valid  as  an  object.  To  be  thought  by  the 
understanding  it  must  first  be  intuited  by  the  sensuous  fliculty. 
The  sensuous  faculty  cannot  intuite  until  an  object  is  given  or 
represented  to  it.  Then  time  must  have  objective  validity  with- 
out regard  to  phenomena,  other  than  itself. 

But  the  proposition  quoted  seems  to  involve  a  contradic- 
tion.    Objects  of  sensuous  intuition  are  known  only  empiri- 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  343 

cally,  that  is,  by  being  presented  to  the  sensuous  faculty.  If 
pure  knowledge  a  pn'o:-!  is  ne(:es-^:;';ly  'Ml".  ;t  in  which  no  cirr 
pirical  element  is  mixed  up,"  it  would  seem  more  accurately 
logical  to  say  "all  things  are  in  time,"  than  to  say  "all  things 
as  phenomena,  that  is  as  objects  of  sensuous  intuition,  are  in 
time. "  The  only  possible  difference  between  things,  and  things 
as  phenomena,  is  not  a  difference  in  the  things.  It  depends 
wholly  upon  the  things  having  been  represented  to  the  sensu- 
ous foculty,  and  having  thus  become  phenomena.  Things  can- 
not be  nothings.  Thing  must  be;  the  mind  cannot  imagine  a 
thing  without  imagining  it  as  being.  The  mind  cannot  imag- 
ine a  thing  as  being,  without  imagining  as  being  in  time.  If  a 
thing  cannot  be  imagined  except  as  being  in  time,  it  is  more 
accurate  to  say  all  things  are  in  time,  than  to  say  all  things  as 
phenomena  are  in  time.  The  mind  cannot  imagine  a  thing 
except  as  potentially  an  object  of  sensuous  intuition.  There 
may  be  many  things  of  which  no  sensuous  intuition  has  been 
had,  because  they  may  not  have  been  represented  to  the  sensu- 
ous faculty.  But  the  word  thing  necessarily  implies  that  of 
which  a  sensuous  intuition  could  be  had,  if  it  should  be  so  rep- 
resented. That  which  is  in  itself  too  unsubstantial  to  be  repre- 
sented to  the  sensuous  fiiculty,  is,  to  the  mind  at  least,  nothing. 
Then  all  things,  including  time  itself,  are  in  time,  and  time  is  of 
objective  validity  without  regard  to  phenomena,  other  than 
itself,  and  whether  the  things  have  or  have  not  been  represented 
to  the  sensuous  faculty  and  thus  become  to  us  phenomena. 

The  philosopher  may  be  correct  in  denying  that  time  "ab- 
solutely inheres  in  things  as  a  condition  or  property."  There 
seems  to  be  no  meaning  in  either  the  assertion  or  denial  of 
such  a  proposition,  and  neither  could  render  time  of  any  less 
objective  reality  or  validity  as  to  things,  whether  as  phenomena 
or  as  things  in  themselves.  To  say  that  time  is  "only  of  ob- 
jective validity  in  regard  to  phenomena,  because  these  are  things 
which  we  regard  as]]objects  of  our  senses,"  is  attributing  an 
undue  importance  to  our  way  of  regarding  things.  Time  is  an 
entity,  or  it  is  not  an  entity.  It  is  an  object,  or  it  is  not  an  ob- 
ject. If  it  is  not  an  entity  nor  object,  it  is  nothing,  or  rather 
time  is  not.     If  it  is  an  entity  or  object  it  must  be  of  objective 


344  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

validity  and  reality.  In  either  case,  we  can  neither  make  nor 
unmake  it,  nor  can  we  either  appreciate  or  depreciate  its  objec- 
tive validity  or  reality,  by  regarding  phenomena  "as  objects  of 
our  senses,"  or  otherwise.  The  view  we  may  take  ot  things  is 
not  so  important  as  all  that. 

Judging  from  the  progress  recently  made  in  scientific  re- 
search, there  may  be  a  great  deal  in  the  domain  of  things,  which 
we  have  never  yet  regarded  at  all.  During  the  decade  last  past 
a  great  deal  has  been  discovered  which  was  theretofore  un- 
known, even  unsuspected,  and  hence  had  not  been  regarded  as 
"objects  of  our  senses."  Yet  during  and  before  that  time  the 
various  subject  matters  of  such  discoveries  were  things  in  time, 
and  when  discovered  they  were  found  standing  necessarily  in 
relations  of  time;  as  having  been,  and  as  likely  to  be.  The  un- 
discovered things,  whatever  they  may  be,  in  the  yet  unexplored 
regions  of  existence  are  objects — potentially  at  least.  Until 
they  shall  be  discovered  we  will  not  know  and  may  not  sus- 
pect them,  and  to  us  they  will  not  be  phenomena.  But  to  say 
that  they  are  not  things  in  time  until  they  are  discovered  and 
become  to  us  phenomena,  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  our  dis- 
covery of  them  is  their  creation.  They  cannot  be  either  before 
or  after  their  discovery  without  being  in  time.  If  they  are  only 
things  in  time  as  they  happen  to  be  discovered  and  thus  be- 
come phenomena,  this  involves  the  absurdity  of  successive  cre- 
ations of  the  same  objects  by  those  who  may  successively  dis- 
cover them,  or  apprehend  their  existence.  It  appears  to  be 
minimizing  the  consequence  of  time,  which  manifestly  antedates 
and  outlasts  all  things,  which  indeed  encompasses  all  things,  to 
say  that  it  is  onlv  the  subjective  condition  of  our  intuition  of 
things  when  they  are  represented  to  the  sensuous  facuIt3^  It 
will  not  mend  matters  to  say  that  objective  inliditr  is  validity  with 
reference  to  the  operations  of  the  human  mind,  that  the  term  is 
simply  improvised  for  such  special  use.  The  mind  imagines 
manythingswhichneverbecometo.it  real  phenomena.  But 
it  cannot  imagine  any  thing  except  as  in  time,  and  as  in  rela- 
tions of  time,  no  more  than  it  can  sensuously  intuite  real  phe- 
nomena or  objects  otherwise  than  as  in  time,  and  in  relations 
of  time. 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  345 

To  deny  absolute  reality  to  time  is  similar  to  saying  that  we 
know  only  appearances,  that  "what  we  call  outward  objects 
are  nothing  else  but  mere  representations  of  our  sensibility, 
whose  form  is  space,  but  whose  real  correllate,  the  thing  in  it- 
self, is  not  known  by  means  of  these  representations."  The 
use  of  the  word  real,  is  very  unfortunate  for  such  saying.  How 
is  the  real  correllate,  the  thing  in  itself,  knowfi  to  be  real.?  If  it 
is  not  known  by  means  of  these  representations,  that  is,  by  the 
effect  which,  as  a  phenomenon,  it  has  upon  the  mind  when  rep- 
resented to  it,  then  how  is  it  to  be  known  to  be  the  real  correl- 
late ?  The  philosopher  names  no  other  means  by  which  it  can 
be  known,  and  yet  he  calls  it  the  real  correllate,  the  thing  in 
itself.  If  the  mind  knows  appearances,  and  knows  them  to  be 
appearances,  it  must  know  them  to  be  appearances  of  the  things 
appearing.  It  may  not  be  able  to  transport  or  think  them  out 
of  space  and  time,  or  to  know  or  conceive  of  them  except  as 
in  relations  of  space  and  time;  but  if  it  knows  that  which  it 
knows  to  be  the  appearance  of  a  thing.  It  must  know  the  thing. 
Otherwise  it  could  not  know  that  it,  instead  of  some  other 
possible  thing,  caused  the  appearance  which  it  knows.  Then 
what  we  call  outward  objects  must  be  more  than  "  mere  repre- 
sentations of  our  sensibility,  whose  form  is  space."  Neither 
our  sensibility  regarded  as  a  mental  faculty,  nor  any  representa- 
tion of  our  sensibility  regarded  as  a  mental  effect  or  condition 
or  operation  of  mind,  can  have  for  its  form  space.  It  cannot  be 
imagined  as  occupying  any  portion  of  space,  or  as  having  any 
kind  of  relation  in  or  with  space,  without  itself  becoming  a 
phenomenon,  an  object  of  sensuous  intuition.  Representations 
of  our  sensibility  cannot  have  any  form  at  all,  if  by  form  is  meant 
figure  or  contour  or  proportion,  which  would  seem  to  be  meant 
if  space  is  intended  as  the  form.  One  may  as  well  speak  of  the 
weight  or  the  density  or  the  color  of  a  pain,  as  of  the  form  (in 
space)  of  a  mental  representation.  If  the  word  form  is  used  as 
or  for  condition — implying  that  some  idea,  conception,  or  for- 
sooth, some  intuition  of  space  must  be  in  the  mind  as  a  condi- 
tion of  its  receiving  representations  of  objects,  on  the  hypothe- 
sis that  it  cannot  conceive  of  objects  except  as  in  space,  it  only 
argues   the   incompleteness  of  the   philosopher's  formula.      It 


346  ETHICS  OF    LITERATURE. 

indicates  that  little  progress  has  been  made  in  the  metaphysical 
process.  The  mind  cannot  think  an  object  except  as  being  and 
having  form.  Why  not  then  say  that  form  and  being  are  them- 
selves intuitions  a  priori,  that  they  are  also  in  the  mind  as  mere 
forms  of  sensuous  intuition  }  As  conditions  of  representation 
of  objects .?  As  such,  they  are  not  necessarily  included  in  the 
conception  or  idea  of  space  and  time,  and  yet  they  are  as  neces- 
sary to  the  conception  or  intuition  or  idea  of  an  object  as  space 
and  time  can  possibly  be.  The  philosopher  says  we  can  think 
of  space  and  time  as  devoid  of  objects,  but  we  cannot  conceive 
of  objects  except  as  in  space  and  time.  With  equal  plausibility 
and  propriety  it  may  be  said,  we  can  conceive  of  time  as  devoid 
of  events,  but  we  cannot  conceive  of  events  except  as  in  time. 
With  equal  plausibility  and  propriety  it  may  be  said  we  can 
conceive  of  form  as  devoid  of  substance,  but  we  cannot  con- 
ceive of  substance  except  as  having  form.  With  equal  plausi- 
bility and  propriety  it  may  be  said,  we  can  conceive  of  being 
without  an  object  in  existence,  althoughjwe  cannot  conceive  of 
an  object  except  as  being.  Yet  none  of  these  propositions  has 
any  plausibility  or  propriety.  Space  cannot  be  conceived  of  as  de- 
void of  objects,  nor  can  time  be  conceived  of  as  devoid  of  events, 
nor  can  form  be  conceived  of  as  devoid  of  substance,  nor  can  be- 
ing be  conceived  of  except  as  it  implies  the  existence  of  an  object. 
We  may  think  parts  of  space  as  void.  But  to  think  space  we 
posit  ourselves  therein,  and  unavoidably  think  objects  more  or 
less  remote.  The  mind  cannot  divest  itself  of  the  thought  of 
objects,  and  think  absolute  vacuity.  We  cannot  think  time  as 
devoid  of  events.  We  cannot  even  think  portions  of  time,  ex- 
cept as  limited  by  events  occurring  in  time.  The  mind  cannot 
divest  itself  of  the  thought  of  events,  and  think  absolute  inac- 
tion. We  cannot  think  form  as  devoid  of  substance.  Even  a 
shadow  must  be  cast  upon  somtthing.  The  mind  cannot  divest 
itself  of  the  thought  of  substance  and  think  absolute  nothing- 
ness. Accordingly  then,  instead  of  the  "two  pure  forms  of 
sensuous  intuition,"  space  and  time,  there  would  seem  to  be  at 
least  four,  if  there  are  any,  and  that  form  and  being  should  be 
included  in  the  list.     This  appears  to  be  a  logical  necessity. 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  347 

The  philosopher  says,  "Time  is  nothing  but  the  form  of  our 
internal  intuition.  (I  can  indeed  say  'my  representations  follow 
one  another,  or  are  successive;'  but  this  means  only  that  we 
are  conscious  of  them  as  in  succession,  that  is,  according  to  the 
form  of  the  internal  sense.  Time,  therefore,  is  not  a  thing  in 
itself,  nor  is  it  any  objective  determination  pertaining  to,  or  in- 
herent in  things.)  If  we  take  away  from  it  the  special  condi- 
tion of  our  sensibility,  the  conception  of  time  also  vanishes; 
and  it  inheres  not  in  objects  themselves,  but  solely  in  the  sub- 
ject (or  mind)  which  intuites  them."  If  time  were  not  a  thing 
in  itself,  if  it  has  only  subjective  validity,  and  has  no  actuality 
itself,  if  it  only  inheres  in  the  mind  which  intuites  objects,  the 
argument  adduced  in  favor  of  the  proposition  does  not  even 
tend  to  sustain  it.  What  is  the  special  condition  of  our  sensi- 
bility which  if  taken  away,  the  conception  of  time  vanishes.? 
Will  not  the  conception  of  any  and  every  thing  conceivable 
vanish  "if  we  take  away  from  it  the  special  condition  of  our 
sensibility  ?"  If  there  is  a  special  condition  of  the  conception  of 
time,  then  time  can  be  conceived  by  the  mind  when  the  sensi- 
bility is  in,  or  is  attended  by,  the  special  condition;  and  it  can- 
not be  conceived  of  in  the  absence  of  such  special  condition. 
While  time  might  be  a  condition  of  the  conception  of  other 
things,  or,  be  in  some  sense  a  form  of  their  sensuous  intuition, 
yet,  so  far  as  the  mind  is  concerned,  it  is  itself  a  phenomenon, 
an  object  of  which  the  mind,  with  the  special  condition  of  sen- 
sibility, has  the  conception,  which  the  philosopher  says  will 
vanish  if  we  take  away  the  special  condition.  Then  to  the 
mind  time  must  have  as  valid  objective  reality  as  any  other  ob- 
ject of  which  the  mind  can  have  a  conception;  although  it 
might  in  turn  become  the  form  or  condition  of  the  sensuous  in- 
tuition of  other  objects,  or  be  a  condition  of  their  conception. 

The  philosopher  himself  says,  "so  soon  as  we  abstract  in 
thought  our  own  subjective  nature,  the  object  represented, 
with  the  properties  ascribed  to  it  by  sensuous  intuition,  entirely 
disappears,  because  it  was  only  this  subjective  nature  that  de- 
termined the  form  of  the  object  as  a  phenomenon."  This  is 
fairly  equivalent  to  saying  that  if  we  take  away  the  mind's 
capacity  to  think,  it  then  cannot  think ;  or  cannot  then  think  so 


348  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

as  it  could  before.  If  the  phrase  "out;  own  subjective  nature" 
means  anything,  it  must  mean  our  capacity  to  be  affected  in 
some  manner  by  the  representation  of  objects  to  the  sensuous 
faculty.  As  there  can  be  no  thought  without  an  object,  and 
as  the  object  must  be  represented  to  the  sensuous  faculty  before 
there  ca'n  be  a  thought,  and  as  the  sensuous  faculty  must 
intuite  the  object  so  represented  before  the  understanding  can 
think  the  object,  the  removal  of  the  capacity  for  all  these  pro- 
cesses or  operations  which  constitutes  our  subjective  nature, 
would  certainly  deprive  us  of  the  power  to  think  the  object. 
But  the  proposition  to  "abstract  in  thought  our  own  subjective 
nature"  is  a  palpable  absurdity.  Without  our  subjective  nature, 
there  could  not  be  a  thought  in  which  this  or  any  other  ab- 
straction could  take  place.  To  abstract  such  subjective  nature, 
is  to  obliterate  all  thought,  and  render  it  thereafter  impossible. 
We  certainly  cannot  think  without  being  in  some  manner 
affected  by  some  kind  of  objects, — if  our  subjective  nature  is 
abstracted,  we  cannot  be  so  affected  and  the  process  of  abstrac- 
tion itself,  which  requires  thought,  would  be  impossible.  Then 
what  is  it  that  is  in  the  mind  as  the  special  condition  (its  sub- 
jective nature)  whereby  it  has  the  conception  of  time  ?  What 
is  it  that  constitutes  its  special  condition  of  the  sensibility.^ 
There  must  be  something,  if  there  is  such  special  condition  to 
be  taken  away  by  the  proposed  abstraction.  When  the  ana- 
lytical chemist  has  reduced  a  composite  to  what  he  regards  its 
ultimate  elements  or  units,  what  assurance  has  he  that  a  further 
analysis  will  not  some  time  be  made,  and  show  that  his  sup- 
posed ultimate  element  or  unit,  is  itself  a  composite  of  a  high 
degree  of  heterogeneity  ? 

Further  in  the  sam'e  argument  the  philosopher  says,  "in  con- 
firmation of  this  theory  of  the  ideality  of  the  external  as  well  as 
internal,  sense,  consequently  of  all  objects  of  sense,  as  mere 
phenomena,  we  may  especially  remark,  that  all  in  our  cognition 
that  belongs  to  intuition,  contains  nothing  more  than  mere  re- 
lations.— The  feelings  of  pain  and  pleasure,  and  the  will  which 
are  not  cognitions,  are  excepted. — The  relations,  to  wit,  of 
place  in  an  intuition  (extension),  change  of  place  (motion), 
and  laws  according  to  which  this  change  is  determined  (mov- 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  349 

ing  forces).  That,  however,  which  is  present  in  this  or  that 
place,  or  any  operation  going  on,  or  result  taking  place  in  the 
things  themselves,  with  the  exception  of  change  of  place,  is  not 
given  to  us  by  intuition.  Now  by  means  of  mere  relations,  a 
thing  cannot  be  known  in  itself;  and  it  may  therefore  be  fairly 
concluded,  that,  as  through  the  external  sense  nothing  but 
mere  representations  of  relations  are  given  to  us,  the  said  ex- 
ternal sense  in  its  representations  can  contain  only  the  relation 
of  the  object  to  the  subject,  but  not  the  essential  nature  of  the 
object  as  a  thing  in  itself."  Several  questions  are  suggested  by 
these  propositions.  Why  is  it  that  that  which  is  present  in  this 
or  that  place,  or  any  operation  going  on,  or  result  taking  place 
in  the  things  themselves,  with  the  exception  of  change  of  place, 
is  not  given  to  us  by  intuition  ?  The  philosopher  has  emphat- 
ically declared  that  to  intuition  as  "the  necessary  ground-work, 
all  thought  points."  Why  should  change  of  place  be  given  us 
by  intuition,  and  not  any  other  operation  going  on,  or  result 
taking  place  in  the  things  themselves  ?  And  if  these  are  not 
given  us  by  intuition,  how  are  they  given  us  ?  If  there  is  a  con- 
ception of  any  operation  going  on,  or  result  taking  place  in  the 
things  themselves,  it  must,  according  to  the  philosopher's  dec- 
larations hereinbefore  quoted,  arise  from  the  thought  of  the  un- 
derstanding. According  to  other  of  his  declarations  also  here- 
inbefore quoted,  the  understanding  cannot  think  until  the 
sensuous  faculty  intuites  the  object.  So  if  there  is  any  opera- 
tion going  on,  or  result  taking  place  in  the  things  themselves, 
which  is  not  given  by  intuition,  it  is  not  given  at  all. — it  is  en- 
tirely too  unreal  to  be  thought,  it  cannot  be  the  content  of  a 
conception;  and  the  philosopher  says,  "Thoughts  without  con- 
tent are  void,  intuitions  without  conceptions,  blind." 

The  further  questions  occur, — what  is  "the  essential  nature 
of  the  object  as  a  thing  in  itself.?"  and, — is  it  possible  for  the 
human  mind  to  imagine  an  object  as  a  thing  in  itself,  that  is,  as 
a  thing  without  relation.^  if  the  phrase,  tJung  in  itself,  has  any 
meaning,  it  must  mean  thing  v/ithout  relation  to  other  things. 
It  cannot  be  a  phenomenon  until  it  is  represented  to  the  sensuous 
faculty,  and  it  cannot  be  represented  to  the  sensuous  facultv, 
except  in  relation,  and  the  philosopher's  division  of  things  is, — 


k 


350  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

into  things  as  phenomenn,  and  things  in  themselves.  So  things 
in  themselves  must  be  things  without  relations.  Upon  the  an- 
swer to  these  two  questions  depends  the  validity  of  this  division 
of  things,  and  hence,  the  utility  of  the  system  propounded  by 
the  philosopher.  By  whatever  name  his  system  may  be  called 
it  is  plainly  a  psychology.  It  is  devoted  almost  exclusively  to 
a  discussion  of  the  possibilities,  properties,  characteristics,  capa- 
cities, divisions,  relations,  and  laws  of  thought.  If  its  essential 
principles  are  mcapable  of  application  in  the  possible  operations 
of  the  human  mind,  the  system  can  be  of  no  utility  for  such 
mind.     The  investigation  will  probably  demonstrate  its  futility. 

There  is  no  sense,  either  external  or  internal,  nor  any  com- 
bination of  senses,  by  means  of  which  the  mind  can  know  or 
or  imagine  an  object  except  as  in  relation.  There  is  no  psycho- 
logical warrant  for  speaking  of  things  which  cannot  be  known 
or  imagined,  or  for  philosophizing  upon  them  as  they  cannot 
be  known  or  imagined.  Psychologically,  there  can  be  noth- 
ing except  in  relation,  and  the  relations,  whatever  they  may  be, 
must  determine  the  real  nature  of  the  things,  so  far  as  such 
nature  may  be  known.  The  nature  of  simple  ingredients  is 
determined  by  their  action  in  combination.  If  the  mind  cannot 
imagine  a  thing  without  relation,  actual  or  potential,  it  would 
seem  that  relation  (not  particular,  but  necessary  relation)  must 
be  of  the  very  essence  and  nature  of  the  thing.  Then  if  things 
are  known  at  all,  it  must  be  by  means  of  mere  relations,  which 
renders  the  knowing  of  things  as  things  in  themselves  and 
without  relation,  impossible;  because  it  is  these  very  relations 
which  constitute  the  real  nature  of  the  things  so  far  as  they 
are,  or  can  be  conceived  of  as  being,  things. 

Illustrations  are  obvious.  Take  the  simplest  possible  math- 
ematical proposition — one  and  one  make  two — what  is  one  ? 
It  has  no  meaning  whatever  except  in  some  kind  of  relation, 
and  it  will  be  just  whatever  its  relations  make  it.  Again, — one 
is  contained  in  two  twice, — what  is  one  ?  It  has  no  meaning 
except  in  its  relations.  Take  the  simplest  possible  chemical 
proposition, — hydrogen  and  oxygen  compose  water, — what  is 
hydrogen?  "It  is  generally  stated  that  hydrogen  does  not 
exist  naturally  in  a  pure  and  uncombined  state."     If  this  is 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  35  I 

correct  it  would  certainly  be  nothing  naturally  except  in  its  re- 
lations. If  it  were  found  to  exist  naturally  in  a  pure  and  un- 
combined  state,  it  would  still  be  in  space,  and  would  be  in 
necessary  relations  with  other  objects  therein,  if  of  no  other 
kind,  then  of  position.  But  its  real  nature  could  not  be  known 
except  by  knowing  its  action  in  combination  with  some  other 
thing.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  chemical  analysis  of  any 
thing  into  elements  so  elementary  but  that  their  further  reduc- 
tion may  be  as  legitimately  imagined.  It  is  impossible  to 
imagine  an  atom  except  as  in  relation  of  some  kind,  and  the 
real  nature  of  nothing  can  be  known  except  by  its  relations. 
So  instead  of  the  "two  pure  forms  of  sensuous  intuition," 
which  the  philosopher  posits,  space  and  time,  there  would  seem 
to  be  at  least  five,  if  there  are  any,  and  that  in  addition  to  the 
/oral  and  being  above  spoken  of,  relation  should  be  included  in 
the  list. 

It  would  seem  to  be  an  abuse  of  terms  to  say  that  "by 
means  of  mere  relations,  a  thing  cannot  be  known  in  itself;  and 
it  may  therefore  be  fairly  concluded,  that,  as  through  the  exter- 
nal sense  nothing  but  mere  representations  of  relations  are  given 
us,  the  said  external  sense  in  its  representations  can  contain 
only  the  relation  of  the  object  to  the  subject,  but  not  the  essen- 
tial nature  of  the  object  as  a  thing  in  itself."  There  is  some 
sense,  it  may  not  be  the  external  sense,  which  seems  to  contain 
more  than  the  relation  of  the  object  to  the  subject — the  relations 
between  and  among  objects  seem  to  be  known  to  some  extent. 
And  knowledge  of  such  relations  constitutes  the  greater  part  of 
what  we  know.  The  existence  of  an  object  or  a  thing  neces- 
sarily involves  much  more  than  its  relations  to  the  subject  cog- 
nizing it.  To  many  persons  (subjects)  the  existence  of  many 
things  (objects)  is  forever  unknown.  Until  known  they  have 
no  known  relation  to  the  subject,  yet  if  they  are,  they  co-exist 
with  the  subject  in  space  and  time,  if  they  u'ere  they  and  the 
subject  exist  successively  in  space  and  time,  supposing  them  to 
be  the  object  and  subject  before  they  become  actually  such  by 
means  of  the  subjects  cognition  of  the  objects. 

If  the  external  sense  cannot  give  us  more  than  the  relations 
of  object  to  subject,  it  can  afford  us  but  little  knowledge  of  the 


352  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

nature  of  the  object,  but  even  this  little  is  so  much  of  the  real 
nature  of  the  object.  The  relation  which  the  object  bears  to  the 
subject  must  be  supposed  to  be  its  necessary  relation,  and  hence 
necessarily  a  constituent  factor  in  the  composition  of  the  quant- 
ity or  quality  called  the  real  nature  of  the  object.  The  real 
nature  of  the  object  consists  in  great  measure  of  its  relations, 
actual  and  potential,  to  the  other  things,  including  the  subject; 
or  at  least  such  nature  is  determined  by  such  relations,  actual 
or  potential.  Spectrum  analysis  is  supposed  to  aid  in  ascer- 
taining what  are  the  constituent  substances  of  the  sun,  by  co- 
ordinating in  some  measure  what  are  supposed  to  be  the  rela- 
tions of  such  supposed  substances  to  known  substances.  Micro- 
scopical analysis,  chemical  analysis,  common  observation  and 
experience,  are  constantly  discovering  new  relations  between 
and  among  countless  objects,  whose  relations  to  the  subject  are 
of  trifling  or  rather  of  no  apparent  consequence  in  comparison. 

If  psychological  principles  go  for  anything  in  the  discussion, 
there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  a  thing  in  itself,  because  the  mind 
is  utterly  unable  to  imagine  anything  except  as  in  relation.  And 
the  philosopher  himself  attributes  supreme  authority  to  psycho- 
logical principles,  in  his  worse  than  futile  attempt  to  show  that 
objects  must  conform  to  our  cognition,  or  sensous  intuition  of 
them.  But  unfortunately  for  his  system,  he  thereby  asserts  the 
supremacy  of  that  which  is  now  shown  to  be  hopelessly  irre- 
concilable with  the  fundamental  postulates  of  his  philosophy. 
1  believe  it  is  now  demonstrated  that  there  is  no  such  thing 
psychologically  supposable  as  the  alleged  distinction  between 
things  as  phenomena  and  things  as  things  in  themselves — that 
no  one  can  know  that  he  knows  appearances,  without,  also 
knowing  that  he  knows  the  things  of  which  they  are  the 
appearances. 

The  two  questions  which  1  proposed,  to  wit, — what  is  the 
essential  nature  of  the  object  as  a  thing  in  itself?  and, — is  it 
possible  for  the  human  mind  to  imagine  an  object  as  a  thing  in 
itself, — without  relations — are  now  disposed  of.  The  first  is 
shown  to  be  irrelevant  by  the  necessarily  negative  answer  to 
the  second  one.  The  logical  result  is,  there  can  be  no  utility 
in  that  part  of  the  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  which  is  thus  far 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  j^3 

examined,  and  as  it  is  the  basis  of  the  entire  fabric,  it  would 
seem  but  illy  sustained.  Depending  as  it  must, — indeed  as  it 
professes  to  do,  upon  the  alleged  distinctions,— rof  knowledge 
as  a  priori  and  empirical, — and  of  things  as  phenomena  and 
things  in.  themselves,  both  of  which  are  now  shown  to  be  psy- 
chologically impossible,  there  cannot  be  much  philosophic 
merit  in  the  work. 

1  have  said  that  the  ultimate  object  of  nearly  all  speculative 
philosophy  is  the  settlement,  scientifically,  of  problems  which 
in  the  nature  of  the  human  mind  never  can  be  settled  to  its 
satisfaction.  Such  philosophy  almost  uniformly  degenerates, 
apparently  unconsciously,  into  the  coarsest  and  most  dogmatic 
of  apologetics.  While  it  professes  to  be,  and  seems  to  imagine 
it  is,  reasoning  out  its  deductions,  it  often  arbitrarily  assumes 
whatever  appears  necessary  to  their  validity,  creates  arbitrary 
divisions  of  labor  for  the  employment  of  the  alleged  various 
mental  faculties,  and  arbitrary  divisions  or  departments  of 
alleged  knowledge;  and  after  denouncing  experience  generally 
as  unworthy  comparison  with  the  alleged  pure  reason,  and  of  no 
reliable  validity,  it  almost  invariably  endeavors  to  give  credence 
to  its  own  deductions  by  showing  their  supposed  consonance 
with  the  results  of  experience. 

And  the  Critique  appears  to  be  no  exception  to  the  general 
rule,  as  one  or  two  instances  of  its  statement  of  the  problems  it 
involves  will  suffice  to  show.  "These  unavoidable  problems 
of  mere  pure  reason  are  God,  Freedom  (of  will)  and  immortal- 
ity." And  again,  "  *  *  it  is  phiin  that  the  hope  of  a  fttture 
life  arises  from  the  feeling,  which  exists  in  the  breast  of  every 
man,  that  the  temporal  is  inadequate  to  meet  and  satisfy  the 
demands  of  his  nature.  In  like  manner  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  the  clear  exhibition  of  duties  in  opposition  to  all  the  claims 
of  inclination,  gives  rise  to  the  consciousness  oi freedom,  and 
that  the  glorious  order,  beauty,  and  providential  care,  every- 
where displayed  in  nature,  give  rise  to  the  belief  in  a  wise  and 
great  Author  of  the  Universe."  The  avowed  purpose  of  the 
Critique  is  to  so  purify  and  train  the  reasoning  faculty,  that  it 
may  infallibly  establish  the  validity  of,  and  confirm  such  beliefs, 
and  solve  "these  unavoidable  problems  of  mere  pure  reason." 


354  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

In  reality  it  is  an  indirect,  but  a  very  learned  and  labored  and 
dogmatic  system  of  apologetics.  Its  author  says,  "But  above 
all  it  will  confer  an  inestimable  benefit  upon  morality  and  relig- 
ion, by  showing  that  all  objections  urged  against  them  may 
be  silenced  forever  by  the  Socratic  method,  that  is  to  say,  by 
showing  the  ignorance  of  the  objector." 

It  is  difficult  to  harmonize  the  "glorious  order"  with  "the 
clear  exhibition  of  duty  in  opposition  to  all  claims  of  inclina- 
tion.'' The  order  would  be  more  glorious  if  duty  and  inclina- 
tion were  in  accord  instead  of  opposition.  The  clear  exhibi- 
tion of  this  opposition  may  give  rise  to  the  consciousness  of 
freedom.  But  this  consciousness  of  freedom,  if  put  to  the  test, 
will  be  found  lacking  a  great  deal  of  being  a  knowledge 
that  one  is  actually  free.  What  is  freedom?  Is  it  compatible 
with  restraint.f^  And  what  is  duty  apart  from  restraint  ?  If 
one  is  free  he  may  follow  inclination  without  restraint.  11 
one  is  conscious  of  freedom  he  must  know  he  is  free.  He 
cannot  be  free  so  long  as  he  is  restrained,  whether  by  a 
sense  of  duty  or  by  fear.  If  there  is  opposition  between 
duty  and  inclination  freedom  is  impossible.  One  may  in  such 
case  follow  inclination,  but  not  in  freedom ;  he  can  in  opposi- 
tion to  duty  follow  it  only  in  resistance.  If  the  opposition  be- 
tween duty  and  inclination  is  clearly  exhibited,  then  duty  itself 
is  clearly  exhibited.  Then  if  one  follows  inclination  he  knows 
he  is  defying  duty  and  is  a  rebel  instead  of  a  freeman.  His 
duty  cannot  be  clearly  exhibited  without  its  restraint  is  also 
clearly  exhibited.  Knowledge  of,  or  belief  in,  ill  consequences, 
to  result  from  certain  action,  renders  it  impossible  for  one  to  be 
free  to  take  such  action.  His  duty  forbids  it.  His  inclination 
may  prompt  him  to  take  it,  but  he  is  not  free  to  do  so.  He  is 
restrained  by  fear  or  by  a  sense  of  duty.  He  may  resist  such 
restraint,  just  as  men  defy  the  laws  and  cheat  and  kill  each 
other. 

If  "it  is  plain  that  the  hope  of  a  future  life  arises  from  the 
feeling  which  exists  in  the  breast  of  every  man,  that  the  tem- 
poral is  inadequate  to  meet  and  satisfy  the  demands  of  his 
nature,"  and  if  duty  has  relation  to  happiness  in  the  future  life, 
— it  is  indeed  strange  that  there  should  be  "  the  clear  exhibition 


k 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  355 

of  duty  in  opposition  to  all  the  claims  of  inclination."  Suppose 
that  we  examine  this  proposition  minutely.  The  universality  of 
tendency  seems  to  establish  in  one  case  the  reasonableness  of 
the  hope  of  a  future  life.  In  the  other  case  the  universality  of 
the  tendency  seems  to  be  consistent  with  its  turpitude,  and  to 
be  in  plain  opposition  to  duty  as  it  relates  to  the  fruition  of  the 
hope.  The  hope  of  a  future  life,  the  inclination  to  live  hereafter, 
so  the  demands  of  our  nature  may  be  met  and  satisfied,  is  a 
universal  tendency.  The  word  duty  is  used  to  imply  a  condi- 
tion of  the  happy  fruition  of  such  hope.  Can  an  opposite  ten- 
dency be  supposed  to  universally  prevail  ?  If  the  universality 
of  the  "feeling  that  the  temporal  is  inadequate  to  meet  and 
satisfy  the  demands  of  our  nature,"  gives  rise  to  the  hope  of  a 
future  life,  then  the  universality  of  any  other  feeling,  tendency 
or  inclination,  ought,  on  the  same  principle  to  give  rise  to  the 
hope,  the  fruition  of  which  would  gratify  such  feeling,  tendency, 
or  inclination. 

The  validity  of  morality  and  religion  cannot  be  made  mani- 
fest by  the  Socratic  method,  and  no  inestimable  benefit  can  be 
conferred  upon  them  by  showing  the  ignorance  of  the  objector. 
If  they  are  debatable  they  must  be  sustained.  If  they  are  not 
debatable  they  need  no  support.  If  their  claims  are  to  be  sus- 
tained it  must  be  by  showing  their  validity,  and  not  by  show- 
ing the  invalidity  of  objections.  These  may  be  endless,  and 
all  that  are  offered  may  be  shown  to  be  invalid.  But  if  moral- 
ity and  religion  are  debatable  at  all,  their  validity  is  not  estab- 
lished by  the  overthrow  of  certain  objections  against  them.  In 
order  that  they  may  be  benefited  by  the  Socratic  or  any  other 
method,  they  must  be  confessed  debatable.  If  the  objector  is 
sincere,  and  no  other  deserves  notice,  he  may  insist  that  his 
supposed  ignorance  is  wisdom  in  comparison  with  the  apolo- 
gist's dogmatism.  And  he  may  be  right.  When  the  apolo- 
gist appeals  to  pure  reason,  he  may  find  the  Court  on  both 
sides  of  the  case.  Socrates  and  Lucretius  both  recovered  spec- 
ial verdicts,  and  exulted  over  their  success.  One  proved  that 
the  soul  is  immortal,  the  other  that  it  is  born  and  dies  with  the 
body.  Pure  Reason  set  the  seal  of  its  approval  upon  each  of 
them. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS. 

But  one  Logic — No  Cognition  without  Content—  Conception  has  no  a  priori 
Relation  to  Object — No  Universal  Criterion  of  Truth — Understanding  not 
Distinct  from  Sensibility- — No  Representation  of  Undetermined  Object — 
judgment  Necessarily  Composite — Negative  Content  of  Predicate  an  Ab- 
surdity— No  Logical  Extent  of  Judgment  Beyond  Content  of  the  Cognition 
— No  Difference  Betv^een  Internal  Necessity  and  External  Cause — Principles 
of  Philosophy  not  Expressed  in  Alternatives — Mind  (Soul)  a  Physical  Con- 
dition— Modality  of  Judgments  must  Add  to  their  Value— No  Dij-tinction 
Between  the  True  and  the  Necessary — False  Judgment  Cannot  be  Basis  of 
Cognition  of  Truth— Sensibility  has  Nothing  Primitively  and  Derives  Noth- 
ing Except  Empirically,  Hence  no  Sensibility  a  priori — No  Spontaneity 
of  Thought — Synthesis  must  be  a  posteriori  and  not  a  priori. 

Notwithstanding  the  opinion  expressed  in  the  last  chapter 
concerning  the  utility  of  that  part  of  the  Critique  so  fltr  exam- 
ined, and  which  seems  to  be  the  basis  of  the  entire  fabric,  and 
although  the  general  prevalence  of  such  an  opinion  might  be 
equivalent  to  a  repeal  or  a  nullification  of  the  philosopher's  laws 
of  thought,  it  may  be  found  both  interesting  and  instructive  to 
continue  the  inquiry. 

The  second  part  of  the  doctrine  of  Elements  is  called  Trans- 
cendental Logic.  As  distinguished  from  Transcendental  Aes- 
thetic, the  alleged  science  of  the  laws  of  sensibility,  this  is  said 
to  be  the  science  of  the  laws  of  the  understanding.  It  cannot 
bode  very  favorably  for  the  result  when  discussion  of  such  a 
subject  begins  in  an  illogical  division  of  it. 

As  in  Transcendental  Aesthetic  knowledge  is  divided  into 
a  priori  and  empirical  knowledge,  so  in  this,  logic  is  divided 
into  logic  of  the  general,  and  logic  of  the  particular,  use  of  the 
understanding.  The  first  is  said  to  contain  "the  absolutely 
necessary  laws  of  thought,  without  which  no  use  of  the  under- 
standing whatever  is  possible."  It  is  said  that  it  "gives  laws 
therefore  to  the  understanding  without  regard  to  the  difference 
of  objects  on  which  it  may  be  employed."  The  second  is  said 
to  contain  "the  laws  of  correct  thinking  upon  a  particular  class 
of  objects."     If  such  division  is  logical  there  should  be  a  further 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  357 

division  giving  laws  of  correct  thinking  upon  particular  objects 
in  the  particular  classes.  The  occasion  for  the  division  must  be 
that  the  general  logic  does  not  give  all  the  absolutely  necessary 
law^s  of  thought.  1  find  it  impossible  to  imagine  that  the  ope- 
rations of  the  mind  are  to  be  governed  by  one  law  or  set  of 
laws  when  dealing  with  objects  in  general,  and  by  another  law 
or  set  of  laws  when  dealing  with  a  particular  class  .  of  ob- 
jects. Further  classification  of  objects  would  necessitate  addi- 
tional systems  of  logic;  logic  would  itself  become  more  an  in- 
cident to  the  classification  of  objects  than  a  law  of  thought. 

While  we  may  not  look  for  a  rule  without  an  exception,  we 
inay'object  to  the  exception  being  made  the  rule.  The  word 
law  is  irreconcilable  with  difference  in  the  mode  of  correct  think- 
ing, according  to  classification  of  objects.  Law  implies  uni- 
formity and  regularity,  and  if  one  law  governs  thought  when 
dealing  with  one  class  of  objects,  and  another  law  governs 
thought  when  dealing  with  another  class  of  objects,  there  can  be 
no  general  law  governing  thought  when  dealing  with  objects  in 
general.  An  insuperable  objection  to  the  division  is  plainly 
apparent  in  the  statement  of  the  division.  There  can  be  no 
useful  division  without  a  difference  between  the  laws  of  the 
general  logic,  and  those  of  the  alleged  particular  logic.  The 
general  logic  is  said  to  give  laws,  those  absolutely  necessary,  to 
the  understanding  without  regard  to  the  difference  of  objects 
with  which  it  may  be  employed,  in  which  case  the  laws  of  the 
alleged  particular  logic  would  not  only  be  superfluous,  they 
could  not  apply.  Two  solids  cannot  occupy  the  same  place  at 
the  same  time.  If  the  general  logic  contains  the  absolutely 
necessary  laws  of  thought,  it  contains  those  which  can  in  -no 
case  of  correct  thought  be  dispensed  with,  and  there  can  be  no 
correct  thought  upon  any  object  but  according  to  such  laws. 
If  it  is  complete  it  will  neither  need  nor  admit  being  supple- 
mented by  the  laws  of  the  alleged  particular  logic.  It  it  is  in-  . 
complete  it  cannot  be  general.  If  it  is  to  be  supplemented  or 
superseded  by  a  particular  logic  in  any  case,  it  must  itself  be 
particular,  giving  laws  only  to  a  particular  part  of  the  thought, 
or  to  thought  only  when  employed  with  particular  objects. 


358  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

That  such  processes  and  divisions  can  be  dovetailed  together, 
that  the  jurisdictions  under  which  they  operate  can  be  kept 
from  collision,  so  that  the  processes  can  proceed  harmoniously 
to  intelligible  results  is  a  mystery.  The  very  statement  of  the 
order,  or  rather  the  disorder,  of  the  combinations  and  processes 
is  a  confusion.  Take  for  examble  the  abstraction  by  which 
occasion  is  given  for  the  operation  of  the  laws  of  the  alleged 
pure  general  logic  as  distinguished  from  general  applied  logic. 
The  philosopher  says,  "We  abstract  all  the  empirical  conditions 
under  which  the  understanding  is  exercised;  for  example,  the 
influence  of  the  senses,  the  play  of  the  phantasy  or  imagination, 
the  laws  of  memory,  the  force  of  habit,  of  inclination,  etc.,  con- 
sequently also  the  source  of  prejudice, — in  a  word  we  abstract 
all  causes  from  which  particular  cognitions  arise,  because  these 
causes  regard  the  understanding  under  certain  circumstances  of 
its  application,  and  to  the  knowledge  of  them  experience  is 
required.  Pure  general  logic  has  to  do  therefore,  merely  with 
pure  a  priori  principles,  and  is  a  canon  of  understanding  and 
reason,  but  only  in  respect  of  the  formal  part  of  their  use,  be 
their  content  what  it  may,  empirical,  or  transcendental.  Gen- 
eral logic  is  called  applied,  when  it  is  directed  to  the  laws  of 
the  use  of  the  understanding  under  the  subjective  empirical 
conditions  which  psychology  teaches  us.  It  has  therefore 
empirical  principles,  although,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  in  so  far 
general,  that  it  applies  to  the  understanding,  without  regard  to 
the  difference  of  objects." 

This  abstraction  leaves  nothing, — and  this  residue  is  divided. 
If  we  abstract  all  empirical  conditions  under  which  the  under- 
standing is  exercised,  the  influence  of  the  senses,  the  imagina- 
tion, memory,  habit,  inclination,  and  prejudice,  and  all  causes 
from  which  particular  cognitions  arise;  then  the  understanding 
will  not  be  exercised  at  all,  there  will  arise  no  cognition  what- 
ever, and  the  understanding  will  not  even  understand  that  it 
has  performed  the  supposed  abstraction.  Without  the  influence 
of  the  senses  there  can  be  no  thought,  and  without  memory 
thoughts  cannot  be  connected.  If  the  causes  from  which  par- 
ticular cognitions  arise  regard  the  understanding  under  certain 
circumstances  of  its  application,  to  a  knowledge  of  which  ex- 


\ 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  359 

perience  is  required,  then  the  remnant  of  the  understanding 
remaining  after  the  supposed  abstraction,  will  be  under  the 
certain  circumstances  of  its  application,  if  it  is  applied,  and  to 
the  knowledge  of  this  experience  will  be  required.  The  ab- 
straction itself  will  be  experience,  and  the  supposed  condition 
of  the  understanding  after  the  supposed  abstraction  will  be  an 
object,  to  be  known  only  empirically.  If  it  is  neither  applied 
nor  known,  it  is  entirely  too  shadowy  for  philosophic  discus- 
sion. There  is  no  cognition  without  content.  The  condition 
of  the  understanding  after  the  supposed  abstraction  must  be 
known,  or  it  must  be  unknown.  If  it  is  unknown  the  disqui- 
sition is  idle.  If  it  is  known,  the  knowledge  of  it  is  the  content 
of  the  particular  cognition  which  the  philosopher  says  regards 
the  understanding  under  certain  circumstances  of  its  applica- 
tion, to  the  knowledge  of  which  experience  is  required.  Some 
kind  of  observation  or  perception  will  be  necessary  to  know  it, 
and  they  are  experience.  If  all  causes  from  which  particular 
cognitions  arise  were  abstracted,  then  that  particular  cognition 
would  not  arise,  and  we  could  know  neither  the  condition  of 
the  understanding,  nor  that  the  abstraction  itself  were  made. 

Some  controversial  philosophy  when  closely  scrutinized 
appears  more  like  contention  for  signification  of  terms,  than  for 
doctrine  and  the  application  of  principles.  It  is  not  intended  to 
be  understood  as  a  wrangle  over  terminology,  and  much  of  it 
does  not  seem  to  be  intended  to  be  understood  at  all.  But  the 
critical  reader  of  the  works  of  some  philosophers  who  appear  to 
be  in  violent  opposition  to  each  other,  will  see  that  there  is  little 
if  any  occasion  for  their  dissention. 

In  the  philosophy  in  question,  which  most  English-speaking 
scholars  modestly  admit  they  do  not  fully  comprehend,  it  is 
said,  "in  the  expectation  that  there  may  perhaps  be  conceptions 
which  relate  a  priori  to  objects,  not  as  pure  sensuous  intuitions, 
but  merely  as  acts  of  pure  thought,  which  are  therefore  concep- 
tions, but  neither  of  empirical  nor  sesthetical  origin — in  this 
expectation,  I  say,  we  may  form  to  ourselves,  by  anticipation, 
the  idea  of  a  science  of  pure  understanding  and  rational  cogni- 
tion, by  means  of  which  we  may  cogitate  objects  entirely  apriori. 
A  science  of  this  kind,  which  should  determine  the  origin,  the 


360  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

extent,  and  the  objective  validity  of  such  cognitions  must  be 
called  transcendental  logic,  because  it  has  not,  like  general  logic,  to 
do  with  the  laws  of  understanding  and  reason  in  relation  to 
empirical  as  well  as  pure  rational  cognitions  without  distinction, 
but  concerns  itself  with  these  only  in  an  a  priori  relation  to  ob- 
jects." 

The  word  transcendental  is  used  here  in  relation  to  logic  in 
a  sense  analogous  to  that  in  which  the  term  a  priori  is  in  the 
same  philosophy  so  frequently  used  in  relation  to  knowledge. 
So  far  as  position  in  the  order  of  a  mental  process  is  concerned, 
the  function  of  transcendental  logic  is  intended  as  analogous  to 
that  of  the  alleged  a  priori  cognition.  But  a  great  deal  must  be 
done  before  there  can  be  the  function  of  transcendental  logic, 
and  it  must  all  be  done  in  anticipation  and  with  the  imagina- 
tion. In  view  of  the  palpable  improbability  that  the  expecta- 
tion will  ever  materialize  in  intelligible  psychological  results,  in 
order  to  give  scope  for  the  operations  of  the  rare  invention — it 
is  necessary  to  imagine  a  sort  of  mental  Utopia,  where  certain 
laws  of  the  alleged  transcendental  logic  control  the  action  of  the 
pure  understanding,  in  its  dealings  with  that  which  has  no  psy- 
chological content.  The  science  is  supposed  to  "determine  the 
origin,  extent,  and  objective  validity,"  of  cognitions  which  are 
said  to  have  no  object.     This  is  rarified  air. 

If  conceptions  are  acts  of  pure  thought,  there  can  still  be  no 
conception  without  an  object.  When  thought  becomes  too 
pure  to  have  an  object  it  ceases  to  be  thought.  There  can  be 
no  cognition  without  content.  When  cognition  becomes  too 
airy  to  contain  the  knowledge  constituting  it,  it  ceases  to  be 
cognition.  There  can  be  neither  a  conception  nor  a  cognition 
unless  it  is  of  empirical  or  aesthetical  origin.  The  philosopher 
himself  says,  "our  nature  is  so  constituted,  that  intuition  with 
us  can  never  be  other  than  sensuous,  that  is,  it  contains  only 
the  mode  in  which  we  are  affected  by  objects.  On  the  other 
hand  the  faculty  of  thinking  the  objects  of  sensuous  intuition  is 
the  understanding.  Neither  of  these  f^iculties  has  a  preference 
over  the  other.  Without  the  sensuous  faculty  no  object  would 
be  given  to  us,  and  without  the  understanding  no  object  would 
be  thought.      Thoughts  without  content    are  void,  intuitions 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  ^6x 

without  conceptions  are  blind.  Hence  it  is  as  necessary  for 
the  mind  to  make  its  conceptions  sensuous  (that  is,  to  join  tO' 
them  the  object  in  intuition)  as  to  make  its  intuitions  intelligi- 
ble (that  is,  to  bring  them  under  conceptions).  Neither  of 
these  faculties  can  exchange  its  proper  functions.  Understand- 
ing cannot  intuite,  and  the  sensuous  faculty  cannot  think.  In 
no  other  way  than  from  the  united  operation  of  both,  can 
knowledge  arise."  So  according  to  his  own  unqualified  decla- 
rations, it  plainly  appears,  that  unless  the  mind  can,  by  means 
of  some  of  its  f:Kulties,  employ  itself  in  a  process  or  operation 
more  subtle  than  thought,  there  can  be  no  mental  domain 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  laws  of  the  transcendental  logic. 
It  is  simply  impossible  to  imagine  that  it  can  do  so. 

There  is  manifest  contradiction  and  absurdity  in  the  proposi- 
tion to  cogitate  objects  entirely  a  priori.  One  of  the  philoso- 
pher's cardinal  principles  is,  that  objects  only  reach  us  through 
the  sensuous  faculty.  Another  one  is,  that  all  cognition  arising 
therefrom  is  a  posteriori  cognition.  Now  to  cogitate  a  thing  is 
to  think  the  thing  cogitated.  To  intuite  a  thing  is  to  know  or 
perceive  the  thing  intuited  without  deduction  or  reasoning,  that 
is,  to  know  it  directly.  To  cognize  a  thing  is  to  know  the  thing 
cognized.  The  mind  cannot  cogitate,  intuite,  nor  cognize, 
without  cogitating,  intuiting  or  cognizing  something.  Neither 
cognition  nor  cogitation  then  can  be  possible  apnon,  nor  in  an  a 
priori  relation  to  objects.  There  can  be  no  such  relation.  Rela- 
tion of  any  thing  mental  to  objects  must  be  a  posteriori.  The  rela- 
tion cannot  be  until  the  object  is,  nor  indeed  until  it  is  given.  In 
delirium  a  mind  may  wildly  and  weirdly  imagine  much  that  is 
unreal,  both  as  to  its  imaginary  objects  and  their  imaginary  re- 
lations. But  in  its  dealings  with  thought  philosophy  is  sup- 
posed to  refer  to  that  of  rational  creatures  in  their  sober  senses. 
Psychology  will  be  but  little  advanced  by  being  taught  in- 
terms  of  visionary  vagary ;  and  the  alleged  a  priori  cognition  can 
be  no  more  than  that. 

Conceptions  cannot  have  an  a  priori  relation  to  objects.  The 
philosopher  says,  "By  means  of  sensibility  objects  are  given  to 
us,  and  it  alone  furnishes  us  with  intuitions;  by  the  understand- 
ing they  are  thought,   and  from   it  conceptions  arise.     But  all 


362  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

thought  must  directly  or  indirectly,  by  means  of  certain  signs, 
relate  ultimately  to  intuitions ;  consequently,  with  us,  to  sensi- 
bility, because  in  no  other  way  can  an  object  be  given  to  us." 
If  conceptions  arise  from  thought,  and  if  thought  must  originate 
in  sensibility,  the  conceptions  must  be  a  posteriori.  They  must 
come  after  the  object  is  represented  to  the  sensuous  faculty,  and 
the  intuition  arises  or  is.  The  sensuous  faculty  must  intuite  be- 
fore the  understanding  can  think.  If  thoughts  without  content 
are  void,  then  they  are  not.  To  be  thoughts  they  must  be  joined 
to  the  object  in  intuition,  and  thus  they  have  content.  Con- 
ceptions arising  from  them,  come  necessarily  after  the  object  in 
intuition,  and  hence  a  posteriori.  Conceptions  must  be  before 
they  can  have  any  relation  whatever,  and  it  is  impossible  for 
them  to  be  before  the  thoughts  from  which  they  arise;  and 
thoughts  originate  only  in  sensibility.  So  if  it  is  the  sole  office 
of  the  transcendental  logic  to  determine  the  origin,  the  extent, 
and  the  objective  validity  of  conceptions  which  relate  a  priori  to 
objects,  there  is  no  practical  utility  in  it.  No  such  conceptions 
are  conceivable. 

Nothing  could  be  much  more  illogical  than  the  proposition 
to  furnish  a  "universal  and  secure  criterion  of  the  truth  of  every 
cognition."  "With  regard  to  our  cognition  in  respect  of  its 
mere  form  (excluding  all  content),  it  is  equally  manifest  that 
logic,  in  so  far  as  it  exhibits  the  universal  and  necessary  laws  of 
the  understanding,  must  in  these  very  laws  present  us  with 
criteria  of  truth."  And  this  position  is  equally  as  illogical,  un- 
philosophical,  and  absurd  as  the  proposition  which  he  de- 
nounces. In  the  same  paragraph  he  says,  "these  criteria,  how- 
ever, apply  solely  to  the  form  of  truth,  that  is,  of  thought  in 
general,  and  in  so  far  they  are  perfectly  accurate,  yet  not  suffi- 
cient. For  although  a  cognition  may  be  perfectly  accurate  as  to 
its  logical  form,  that  is,  not  self-contradictory,  it  is  notwith- 
standing quite  possible  that  it  may  not  stand  in  agreement  with 
its  object."  One  simple  truth  is  sufficient  to  show  the  utter 
fallacy  of  such  proposition,  and  to  answer  all  the  argument  ad- 
duced to  sustain  it.  It  is  this, — there  can  be  no  cognition 
which  does  not  agree  with  its  object.  Another  is, — a  cognition 
cannot  be  perfectly  accurate  as  to  its  logical  form,  that  is,  not 


I 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  363 

self-contradictory,  and  then  not  stand  in  agreement  with  its 
object.  A  cognition,  to  be  such,  must  have  an  object.  It  must 
relate  to  its  object.  It  is  nothing  with  an  object.  It  is  deter- 
mined by  its  object,  both  as  to  form  and  content.  It  is  a  cog- 
nition of  the  object  cognized,  or  it  is  nothing.  If  there  is  no 
content  (object)  there  is  no  cognition.  Its  content  is  its  form. 
It  is  impossible  to  think  without  thinking  something.  Both 
knowing  and  accurate  thinking  must  agree  with  the  thing 
known  and  accurately  thought.  The  supposed  cognition  which 
does  not  so  agree,  is  self-contradictory,  for  it  is  now  clearly 
shown  that  it  can  only  be  a  cognition  in  so  far  as  it  agrees  with 
its  object.  It  is  not  merely  asserted,  it  is  shown,  that  a  cogni- 
tion to  be  such  must  agree  with  its  object.  If  it  is  not  satisfac- 
torily shown,  I  will  proceed  to  do  so  on  the  authority  of  the 
philosopher's  own  unqualified  declarations.  It  is  illogical,  un- 
philosophical,  and  absurd  to  say, — "with  regard  to  our  cogni- 
tion in  respect  to  its  mere  form  (excluding  all  content). "  When 
all  content  is  excluded  there  is  no  cognition  to  have  form.  Ac- 
cording to  the  philosopher,  thought  is  the  work  of  the  under- 
standing, which  can  only  be  performed  when  the  sensuous  fac- 
ulty has  intuited  an  object.  The  laws  of  the  understanding 
cannot  present  us  with  any  criteria  of  truth  either  in  particular 
or  in  general.  The  laws  of  the  understanding  (transcendental 
logic)  may  prescribe  certain  rules  for  accurate  thinking,  but 
truth  is  not  to  be  tested  by  any  criterion  which  they  can  afford. 
If  truth  is  "the  accordance  of  the  cognition  with  its  object,"  it 
can  only  be  known  when  the  object  is  presented,  and  the  cri- 
teria must  then  be  afforded  by  the  sensuous  faculty  (in  a  sum- 
mary of  the  experiences,  or  deductions  therefrom)  to  which  the 
object  is  presented. 

Under  the  general  head  of  Transcendental  Logic  the  philos- 
opher treats  of  what  he  calls  the  transcendental  clue  to  the  dis- 
covery of  all  pure  conceptions  of  the  understanding.  But 
within  the  first  page  of  the  discourse  he  shows  the  impossibility 
of  suchgConceptions,  and  hence  the  superfluity  of  the  alleged 
clue  for  their  discovery.  He  says, — "independently  of  sensi- 
bility, we  cannot  possibly  have  any  intuition;  consequently  the 
understanding  is  no  faculty  of  intuition.     But  besides  intuition 


364  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

there  is  no  other  mode  of  cognition,  except  through  concep- 
tions; consequently  the  cognition  of  every,  at  least  of  every 
human,  understanding  is  a  cognition  through  conceptions,— 
not  intuitive,  but  discursive.  All  intuitions,  as  sensuous,  de- 
pend on  affections;  conceptions,  therefore,  upon  functions.  By 
the  word  function,  1  understand  the  unity  of  the  act  of  arrang- 
ing diverse  representations  under  one  common  representation. 
Conceptions,  then,  are  based  on  the  spontaneity  of  thought,  as 
sensuous  intuitions  are  on  the  receptivity  of  impressions."  But 
a  little  previously  he  had  said,  "pure  understanding  disting- 
uishes itself  not  merely  from  everything  empirical,  but  also 
completely  from  all  sensibility."  And  not  very  far  back  he  had 
declared  the  impossibility  of  the  understanding  so  distinguish- 
ing itself,  as  v^^ell  as  the  impossibility  of  any  conception  not 
based,  like  sensuous  intuitions,  on  the  receptivity  of  impres- 
sions, except  that  they  are  one  remove  further  away  from,  in 
advance  of,  or  above  sensibility-  As  quoted  in  the  last  pre- 
ceding chapter  he  had  said,  "an  intuition  can  take  place  only 
in  so  far  as  the  object  is  given  to  us.  This,  again,  is  only  pos- 
sible to  man  at  least,  on  condition  that  the  object  affect  the 
mind  in  a  certain  manner.  The  capacity  for  receiving  repre- 
sentations (receptivity)  through  the  mode  in  which  we  are 
affected  by  objects,  is  called  sensibility.  By  means  of  sensi- 
bility, therefore,  objects  are  given  to  us,  and  it  alone  furnishes 
us  with  intuitions;  by  the  understanding  they  are  thought,  and 
from  it  arise  conceptions.  But  all  thought  must  directly,  or 
indirectly,  by  means  of  certain  signs,  relate  ultimately  to  intui- 
tions; consequently,  with  us,  to  sensibility,  because  in  no  other 
way  can  an  object  be  given  to  us."  Conceptions  then  arise 
from  thought.  And  all  thought  must  relate  to  sensibility.  If 
it  is  the  understanding  which  does  the  thinking,  how  is  it  to 
distinguish  itself  "completely  from  all  sensibility.?"  Further, 
if  conceptions  depend  on  function,  and  if  function  is  "the  unity 
of  the  act  of  arranging  diverse  representations  under  one  com- 
mon representation,"  and  if  conceptions  arise  from  the  thought 
of  the  understanding,  then  the  understanding  cannot  distinguish 
tself  completely  from  all  sensibility.  The  representations  with 
which  function  deals,  are  made  only  to  the  sensibility.     The 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  '  365 

sensibility  receives  them  by  means  of  the  receptivity  of  the 
sensuous  faculty. 

It  is  irrelevant  to  say  that  "besides  intuition  there  is  no  other 
mode  of  cognition  except  through  conceptions."  The  above 
quoted  postulates  preclude  the  possibility  of  conceptions  except 
by  means  of,  or  arising  from  intuitions.  And  they  are  equally 
as  positive  that  intuition  is  impossibile  without  sensibility, 
that  is,  impossible  except  by  means  of  sensibility.  Where 
such  declarations  are  positively  made,  and  are  so  contradictory, 
the  reader  must  either  misunderstand  or  forget  what  he  reads  on 
one  page,  in  order  to  be  prepared  to  understand  what  he  may 
read  upon  another  page  of  the  same  philosophy. 

In  the  introduction  to  his  discourse  upon  the  analytic  of 
conceptions,  the  philosopher  says,  "Transcendental  philosophy 
has  the  advantage,  and  moreover  the  duty,  of  searching  for  its 
conceptions  according  to  a  principle;  because  these  conceptions 
spring  pure  and  unmixed  out  of  the  understanding  as  an  abso- 
lute unity,  and  therefore  must  be  connected  with  each  other 
according  to  one  conception  or  idea.  A  conception  of  this 
kind,  however,  furnishes  us  with  a  ready  prepared  rule,  by 
which  its  proper  place  may  be  assigned  to  every  pure  concep- 
tion of  the  understanding,  and  the  completeness  of  the  system 
of  all  determined  a  priori, — both  which  would  otherwise  have 
been  dependent  on  mere  choice  or  chance." 

It  would  really  seem  more  logical,  though  perhaps  not  so 
transcendentally  logical,  to  assign  the  pure  conceptions  of  the 
understanding  to  their  proper  places,  than  to  assign  their  proper 
places  to  them.  Such  conceptions  would  seem  to  be  as  trans- 
itory and  portable  as  place.  But  aside  from  this,  which  may 
be  regarded  captious,  1  think  1  have  shown  that  according  to 
the  philosopher's  own  positive  declarations,  a  pure  conception 
of  the  understanding,  as  he  defines  it,  is  an  impossibility.  He 
says  it  is  a  conception  in  which  there  is  nothing  empirical. 
Also  that  the  understanding  has  been  negatively  defined  "as  a 
non-sensuous  faculty  of  cognition."  I  think  I  have  already- 
shown  that  according  to  his  positive  declarations,  there  can  be 
no  such  faculty,  or  at  least  that  no  faculty  of  the  mind  can  have 
a   non-sensuous   cognition;  that   he   absolutely   precludes   the 


k 


j66  '  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

possibility  of  thought   without   sensation,  and  no  one  would 
claim  that  there  could  be  cognition  without  thought. 

Later  in  the  section  last  above  quoted  from  he  says,  "Now 
thought  is  cognition  by  means  of  conceptions.  But  conceptions 
as  predicates  of  possible  judgments,  relate  to  some  representa- 
tion of  a  yet  undetermined  object."  I  believe  it  is  shown  that 
according  to  his  own  positive  declarations,  both  'these  propos- 
itions propose  impossibilities.  As  quoted  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter he  has  said,  "By  means  of  sensibility,  therefore,  objects  are 
given  to  us,  and  it  alone  furnishes  us  with  intuitions;  by  the 
understanding  they  are  thought,  and  from  it  arise  concep- 
tions." Then  thought  cannot  be  "cognition  by  means  of  con- 
ceptions," because  conceptions  themselves  arise  from  thought, 
or  from  the  understanding  which  thinks.  It  would  be  a  some- 
what circuitous  process  if  thought,  or  the  understanding  that 
thinks,  should  first  produce  conceptions,  and  thought  should 
then  be  cognition  by  means  of  them.  Conceptions  as  predi- 
cates of  possible  judgments  cannot  relate  to  the  representation 
of  a  yet  undetermined  object.  A  mere  representation  is  suffi- 
ciently filmy  when  the  object  is  determined.  There  can  be  no 
representation  of  a  yet  undetermined  object.  A  representation, 
to  be  such,  must  be  a  representation  of  an  object.  So  long  as 
the  object  is  undetermined,  how  can  the  mind  know  that  it  has 
a  representation  of  it  ?  If  the  mind  even  imagines  that  it  has  a 
representation  of  an  object,  it  must  also  imagine  the  object  of 
which  it  so  imagines  itself  to  have  such  representation.  The 
object  must  be  determined  in  the  imagination,  or  the  represen- 
tation of  it  cannot  be  in  the  imagination.  In  proof  of  this  it  is 
sufficient  to  ask  the  reader  to  try  to  imagine  the  representation 
of  an  object,  without  at  the  same  time  imaging  the  object  as 
determined.  Herbert  Spencer  says  it  is  impossible  to  look  at 
the  sun  and  think  of  green.  I  have  tried  to  imagine  myself 
doing  so,  and  found  it  impossible.  His  assertion  is  proved, 
psychologically  at  least.  If  one  cannot  imagine  the  representa- 
tion of  an  object  without  also  imagining  the  object  as  determ- 
ined, it  is  proved  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  a  "representa- 
tion of  a  yet  undetermined  object."  These  conceptions  cannot 
"spring  pure  and  unmixed  out  of  the  understanding    as   an 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  }b'J 

absolute  unity."  The  understanding  is  not,  and  cannot  be  im- 
agined to  be,  an  absolute  unity.  It  may  be  the  highest  faculty 
or  function  of  the  mind.  But  according  to  the  philosopher's 
own  positive  declarations,  it  is  merely  a  relative  factor,  and  not 
an  absolute  unity.  As  already  quoted  he  says,  "without  the 
sensuous  faculty  no  object  would  be  given  to  us,  and  without 
the  understanding  no  object  would  be  thought.  *  *  *  in 
no  other  way  than  from  the  united  operation  of  both,  can 
knowledge  arise."  If  this  is  true  the  understanding  not  only 
cannot  be  an  absolute  unity,  it  must  be  a  mere  factor  or  faculty 
of  essential  relativity  in  the  mental  make-up,  the  psychological 
organism.  Substantively  the  understanding  is  nothing.  If  it  is 
in  reality  a  fliculty  of  thought,  or  a  foculty  which  thinks,  or 
even  an  entity  which  thinks,  its  existence  is  only  known  in  its 
thinking.  Until  it  thinks  it  is  not  known  to  be.  It  cannot  be 
imagined  as  in  being,  except  as  engaged  in  thinking.  The 
philosopher  says  it  cannot  think  unless  it  is  furnished  with  an 
object  by  sensuous  intuition.  If  he  is  correct  in  this,  the  un- 
derstanding must  be  a  relative  quantity  or  quality,  dependent 
in  its  existence  and  operations,  which  as  above  shown  are  but 
one,  upon  the  faculty  of  sensuous  intuition.  Then  it  certainly 
cannot  be  an  absolute  unity.  The  imperativeness  with  which 
he  declares  the  understanding  to  be  an  absolute  unity,  is  un- 
warranted. Positiveness  is  not  philosophy.  If,  however,  it  is 
the  alleged  pure  conception  of  the  understanding  which  he 
means  to  call  an  absolute  unit,  the  result  is  even  worse  for  his 
philosophy.  According  to  his  declarations  conceptions  must 
be  composite,  and  cannot  be  unity.  The  raw  material  of 
which  they  are  composed  is  the  intuition  of  the  sensuous  fac- 
ulty, intuited  only  when  an  object  is  presented  or  represented. 
This  intuition  is  worked  over  by  the  understanding  into  thought 
and  conceptions.  Then  conceptions  must  be  as  empirical,  as 
heterogeneous,  and  as  relative,  as  the  thing  intuited  by  the 
sensuous  faculty,  or  as  the  intuition  of  the  sensuous  faculty. 

Of  the  alleged  logical  function  of  the  understanding  in  judg- 
ments, he  says  it  may  be  brought  under  four  heads,  of  which 
each  contains  three  momenta.  They  are,  first,  Quantity  of 
judgments,    as  universal,    particular,   and  singular.     Second, 


368  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE, 

Quality  of  judgments,  as  affirmative,  negative,  and  infinitive. 
Third,  Relation  of  judgments,  as  categorical,  hypothetical,  and 
disjunctive.  Fourth,  Modality  of  judgments,  as  problematical, 
assertorical,  and  apodeictical.  That  in  the  use  of  judgments  in 
syllogisms,  singular  judgments  may  be  treated  like  universal 
ones.  That  because  a  singular  judgment  has  no  extent,  its  predi- 
cate cannot  refer  to  a  part  of  the  conception  of  the  understanding, 
and  be  excluded  from  the  rest.  That  the  predicate  is  valid  for 
the  whole  conception  as  if  it  were  a  general  conception  and 
had  extent,  to  the  whole  of  which  the  predicate  applied.  That 
in  point  of  quantity  the  singular  is  to  the  general  judgment  as 
unity  to  infinity;  that  as  to  their  intrinsic  validity,  and  their  use 
with  reference  to  each  other,  they  need  not  be  separately 
placed ;  but  that  according  to  quantity  they  are  entirely  differ- 
ent. 

This  is  very  obscure;  but  I  believe  I  apprehend  its  mean- 
ing. In  what  1  have  to  say  of  it  1  shall  endeavor  to  be  strictly 
logical.  There  is  no  logic  in  the  distinction  between  singular 
and  universal  judgments.  The  supposed  universal  judgment 
is  probably  called  so  because  of  the  universality  of  its  applica- 
tion. It  may  be  of  universal  application  and  still  singular, 
numerically.  If  the  word  singular  is  used  as  the  antithesis  of 
composite,  no  such  judgment  is  psychologically  possible.  A 
judgment  must  be  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a  conclusion 
reached  by  means  of  or  after  deliberation,  and  it  cannot  be  con- 
ceived of  as  simple.-  Deliberation  is  necessarily  a  hesitating 
between  different  mental  tendencies,  and  the  conclusion  (judg- 
ment) reached  is  composed  of  the  result  of  the  consideration  of 
the  matters,  whatever  they  may  be,  which  tend  the  mind  this 
way  or  that  way.  If  the  word  judgment  is  used  in  the  sense 
of  cognition,  it  not  only  necessarily  tends  to  confusion,  but  is 
even  worse  for  the  philosophy  than  if  it  were  used  in  the  com- 
mon acceptation  of  the  term,  and  as  1  have  above  supposed. 
A  cognition  cannot  be  singular,  that  is  simple,  but  is  necessarily 
composite.  It  can  arise  only  from  a  mental  survey  of  things  in 
their  relations.  It  is  psychologically  impossible  to  think  of  any 
one  thing  to  the  utter  exclusion  of  all  other  things,  and  of  all 
relations.     Suppose  one  to  try  the  simplest  and  most  direct 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  369 

cognition  possible,  and  see  if  it  can  possibly  be  singular  in  the 
sense  of  simple,  or  as  distinguished  from  the  composite.  Ap- 
perception is  probably  the  simplest  and  most  direct  of  all  pos- 
sible cognition.  By  it  we  know  that  we  are.  But  what.?  and 
where.?  and  how?  and  when.?  and  amongst  whom.?  and  with 
what.?    The  cognition  is  nothing  if  not  composite. 

The  philosopher  seems  to  base  the  distinction  between  the 
singular  and  universal  judgments  on  the  alleged  fact  that  the 
singular  has  no  extent.  This  necessarily  implies  that  the  uni- 
versal judgment  has  extent,  and  he  says  the  singular  is  to  the 
general  judgment  as  unitv  to  infinity.  This  relation  is  analo- 
gous to  that  sometimes  supposed  between  the  atom  and  the 
universe.  But  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  an  indivisible  atom, 
or  an  atom  without  extent.  If  the  singular  judgment  has  no 
extent  it  cannot  be  to  the  general  judgment  as  unity  to  infinity, 
because  unity  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  no  extent;  and 
worse  than  this,  no  human  judgment  can  be  supposed  to  corre- 
spond with  infinity. 

Further  of  the  logical  function  of  the  understanding  he  says 
that  in  transcendental  logic  infinite  are  distinguished  from 
affirmative  judgments,  though  they  are  rightly  classed  with 
them  in  general  logic.  General  logic  abstracts  all  the  content 
of  the  predicate,  though  it  be  negative,  and  only  considers 
whether  the  predicate  be  affirmed  or  denied  of  the  subject. 
Transcendental  logic  considers  the  content  of  the  negative  pred- 
icate, and  inquires  what  the  cognition  gains  by  such  affirma- 
tion. That  by  the  negative  proposition,  "The  soul  is  not  mor- 
tal," one  really  affirms,  places  the  soul  in  the  unlimited  sphere 
of  immortal  beings,  affirms  that  the  soul  is  one  of  the  infinite 
multitude  of  things  which  remain  when  all  mortal  things  are 
taken  away.  That  by  such  means  the  unlimited  sphere  of  all 
possible  existences  is  so  far  limited  that  the  mortal  is  excluded 
from  it,  and  the  soul  is  placed  in  the  remaining  part  of  this 
sphere.  That  this  part  remains  infinite,  and  more  may  be 
taken  away  from  the  whole  sphere  without  augmenting  or 
affirmatively  determining  our  conception  of  soul.  That  such 
judgments,  infinite  in  respect  of  their  logical  extent,  are  in  re 
spect  of  the  content  of  their  cognition,  merely  limitative.     That 


370  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

hence  they  belong  in  the  transcendental  table  of  the  momenta 
of  thought  in  judgments,  because  the  function  of  the  under- 
standing exercised  by  them,  may  perhaps  be  of  importance  in 
the  field  of  its  pure  a  priori  cognition. 

It  would  seem  very  much  like  an  abuse  of  terms  to  speak 
of  an  alleged  negative  content  of  a  predicate.  And  indeed  in 
the  example  given,  viz.,  "the  soul  is  not  mortal,"  the  philoso- 
pher says  we  really  affirm.  To  affirm  with  negative  proposi- 
tions'is  to  obliterate  all  distinction  between  the  negative  and 
affirmative  and  abolish  all  intelligible  thought.  If  the  content 
of  a  predicate  is  negative  the  predicate  is  void.  The  soul  is 
not  necessarily  placed  in  the  sphere  of  the  immortal  by  merely 
affirming  that  it  is  not  mortal.  So  far  as  such  affirmation  is 
concerned  it  may  not  he  at  all.  Such  a  proposition  does  not 
affirm  that  the  soul  is  one  of  the  multitude  of  things  which  re- 
main when  all  mortal  things  are  taken  away.  The  infinite 
sphere  of  possible  existence  cannot  be  limited  and  remain  infin- 
ite. It  would  require  great  metaphysical  acumen  to  harmonize 
infinity  with  limitation.  Whenever  and  wherever  infinity  shall 
be  limited  right  then  and  there  it  will  cease  to  be  infinite.  If 
judgments  are  infinite  in  respect  of  their  logical  extent,  they 
can  only  be  so  by  being  infinite  in  respect  of  the  content  of 
their  cognition.  The  content  of  the  cognition  of  judgments 
measures  their  logical  extent.  There  is  nothing  of  a  judgment 
beyond  the  content  of  its  cognition,  and  it  can  have  no  extent 
ol  a  logical  or  any  other  kind,  beyond  the  scope  of  the  matter 
to  be  extended.  There  can  be  no  judgment  and  no  part  of  a 
judgment  beyond  the  content  of  its  cognition.  If  this  is  infin- 
ite the  judgment  is  infinite,  otherwise  the  judgment  is  limited. 
The  logical  extent  of  a  judgment  is  nothing  except  as  it  ex- 
tends the  judgment  with  the  content  of  its  cognition  correctly 
in  the  domain  of  thought,  and  the  content  of  its  cognition  is 
necessarily  the  measure  of  its  extent  in  such  domain.  If  such 
judgments  are  important  only  in  the  field  of  the  understanding's 
a  priori  CQ)gx\\\\ox\,  they  are  without  importance, — it  is  already 
shown  that  there  can  be  no  such  cognition. 

Of  the  alleged  logical  function  of  thought  in  judgments,  the 
philosopher  makes  the  following  division  according  to  their 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  37  I 

alleged  relations:  "Those  (a)  of  the  predicate  to  the  subject; 
(b)  of  the  principle  to  its  consequence;  (c)  of  the  divided  cogni- 
tion and  all  the  members  of  the  division  to  each  other. "  He 
proceeds  to  say,  that  hypothetical  propositions  contain  the 
relations  to  each  other  of  two  propositions.  That  nothing  is 
cogitated  by  means  of  such  judgments  except  a  certain  conse- 
quence, the  result  of  the  two  propositions  of  the  hypothetical 
proposition.  That  a  disjunctive  judgment  contains  a  relation  of 
two  or  more  propositions,  not  of  consequence,  but  of  logical  op- 
position, so  far  as  one  proposition  excludes  the  other.  That  it 
contains  at  the  same  time  a  relation  of  community  in  so  far  as 
all  the  propositions  taken  together  till  up  the  sphere  of  the  cogni- 
tion,— for  example,  the  world  exists  either  through  blind  chance, 
or  through  internal  necessity,  or  through  an  external  cause. 

This  last  and  alternative  proposition,  the  alleged  disjunctive 
judgment,  is  utterly  senseless.  If  the  dogmas  of  philosophy 
are  to  be  illustrated  or  enforced  by  the  use  of  propositions,  it 
should  be  done  by  such  as  have  some  intelligible  meaning,  and 
not  by  puerile  exclamations  without  meaning.  There  is  no 
intelligible  difference  between  internal  necessity  and  external 
cause.  If  the  world  exists  through  an  external  cause,  it  must 
be  an  et^icient  cause,  one  not  to  be  opposed.  The  existence  of 
the  world,  then,  must  be  a  necessity, — a  necessary  result  of 
such  cause.  Internal  necessity,  to  mean  anything,  must  mean 
necessity  inherent  in  the  nature  of  the  world,  that  world  which 
exists  through  such  internal  necessity.  To  say  that  the  world 
exists  through  such  necessity  means  nothing.  It  must  exist 
before,  or  at  least  as  early  as,  it  can  have  a  nature  necessitating 
its  existence.  To  say  that  the  world  exists  through  blind 
chance  argues  only  the  blindness  of  the  proponent  of  such  a 
proposition.  There  is  too  much  order,  uniformity,  permanency, 
and  purpose  apparent  in  its  existence  and  progress  or  develop- 
ment for  the  admissibility  of  any  such  proposition. 

Sound  philosophy  never  expresses  itself  in  such  alternatives. 
The  alternative  itself  implies  that  its  proponent  does  not  know 
what  he  proposes.  If  he  knows  that  the  existence  of  the  world 
is  due  to  some  one  of  the  three  alleged  causes,  he  must  know 
which  of  them.     In  such  case  there  could  be  no  occasion  nor 


372  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

excuse  for  the  alternative.  If  he  does  not  know  which  of  the 
three  alleged  causes  produces  the  existence  of  the  world,  he 
cannot  know  that  it  is  any  of  them  which  does  so,  unless  he 
has  the  infinite  knowledge  necessary  to  know  that  among  all 
the  infinite  number  of  supposable  causes,  no  other  than  the 
three  alleged  could  be  efficient.  It  is  both  illogical  and  irrele- 
vant to  speak  of  cause  as  external  to  the  world.  The  word 
world  as  there  used  means  the  entire  material  universe.  It  is 
impossible  to  imagine  any  thing  as  external  to  it.  Space  can- 
not be  supposed  to  extend  beyond  matter,  and  we  cannot  im- 
agine anything  as  external  to  space.  As  far  as  the  vision  has 
gone  in  space  it  has  found  celestial  systems,  and  nebula  imply- 
ing the  presence  of  matter.  The  mind  cannot  go  further  than 
it  can,  and  necessarily  must,  posit  the  like.  To  treat  the  term 
external  cause  as  though  it  were  meant  to  imply  spiritual  as 
distinguished  from  material,  would  be  beneath  the  dignity  of 
serious  philosophy.  The  spiritual  cannot  be  imagined  as  en- 
tirely distinct  from  the  material,  but  only  as  a  condition  of  the 
material.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  spirit  otherwise  than  iis 
in  the  form  of  some  known  or  supposable  aggregation  of  mat- 
ter, and  form  cannot  be  imagined  except  as  outline  or  contour 
of  something.  Even  a  shadow  is  the  manifestation  of  the  con- 
dition of  matter,  and  of  the  relation  of  some  part  of  substance 
to  another  part  during  its  existence.  It  is  cast  by  something 
and  falls  on  something,  and  cannot  itself  be  nothing. 

If  mind  is  soul,  a  spirit,  the  spiritual  is  merely  a  condition  of 
the  material.  Mind  is  a  state  or  condition  of  nerve  substance, 
and  it  cannot  be  imagined  as  external  to,  nor  as  before  or  after, 
the  substance  of  which  it  is  the  state  or  condition.  So  it  ap- 
pears that  the  deepest,  the  dullest,  and  the  dryest  of  all  meta- 
physics deals  in  the  veriest  visionary  vagary,  and  that  its  pro- 
foundest  wisdom  is  the  sheerest  folly. 

The  philosopher  declares  that  the  modality  of  judgments  is 
a  quite  peculiar  function  that  contributes  nothing  to  the  con- 
tent of  a  judgment,  but  concerns  itself  only  with  the  value  of 
the  copula  in  relation  to  thought  in  general.  That  problemat- 
ical judgments  are  those  in  which  the  affirmation  or  negation  is 
regarded  as  merely  possible ;  that  in  the  assertorical  we  regard 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  373 

the  proposition  as  true,  in  the  apodeictic  we  look  upon  it  as 
necessary.  That  problematical  judgments  may  be  obviously 
false,  and  yet,  taken  problematically,  be  conditions  of  our  cog- 
nition of  the  truth.  That  the  assertorical  speaks  of  logical  real- 
ity or  truth ;  that  the  apodeictical  cogitates  the  assertorical  as 
determined  by  the  laws  of  the  understanding,  consequently  as 
affirming  a  priori,  and  in  this  manner  it  expresses  logical  neces- 
sity. That  because  we  judge  problematically,  then  accept  as- 
sertoricallv  our  judgment  as  true;  and  then  accept  it  as  insepa- 
rably united  with  the  understanding,  that  is,  as  necessary  and 
apodeictical,  these  three  functions  of  modality  are  so  many 
momenta  of  thought. 

I  do  not  see  how  the  modality  of  judgments  can  concern 
itself  with  the  value  of  the  copula  so  as  to  determine  anything 
concerning  such  value,  without  contributing  something  to  the 
content  of  the  judgment.  If  the  modality  of  judgments  con- 
cerns itself  with  the  value  of  the  copula,  it  must  be  for  the  pur- 
pose of  determining  such  value,  or  it  is  idle.  If  the  copula,  as 
it  is  supposed  to  do,  unites  the  subject  and  predicate ;  and  if 
the  modality  of  the  judgment  determines  the  value  of  the  cop- 
ula, it  must  add  something  to  the  content  of  the  judgment;  it 
necessarily  adds  the  conception  of  the  value  as  so  determined. 
Subject  and  predicate  are  'without  meaning  in  the  absence  of 
the  copula.  They  may  be  the  material  out  of  which  a  judg- 
ment may  be  constructed  by  the  use  of  a  proper  copula.  The 
judgment  will  be  just  whatever  the  copula  makes  it,  by  bring- 
ing the  subject  and  predicate  together  in  this  or  in  that  partic- 
ular form.  Then  that  which  detei  mines  the  value  of  such  cop- 
ula adds  more  to  the  content  of  the  judgment  than  is  derived 
from  any  other  source,  and  it  does  so  by  determining  the  value 
of  such  copula. 

With  regard  to  the  accuracy  or  verity  of  judgments  there 
can  be  no  intelligible  difference  between  the  true  and  the  neces- 
sary. The  true  is  necessarily  true,  and  the  mind  cannot  imag- 
ine it  as  unnecessary.  The  necessary  is  no  more  true  than  the 
true.  It  is  not  a  higher  grade  of  truth.  Truth  admits  no  grad- 
uation. When  an  intelligible  judgment  is  formed,  and  is  by 
some  means  known  to  be  true,  the  mind  cannot  with  the  same 


374  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

data  before  it  imagine  it  to  be  untrue,  or  otherwise  than  as  so 
formed.  The  philosopher  defines  truth  as  the  agreement  of  the 
cognition  with  its  object.  If  this  definition  is  exclusive  there 
can  be  no  a  priori  knowledge  which  is  true.  As  heretofore 
shown,  he  declares  that  in  knowledge  a  priori  the  object  must 
agree  with  the  cognition,  and  not  the  cognition  with  the  ob- 
ject. The  subject  (mind)  cognizes  the  object  (thing.)  This 
cannot  be  done  unless  the  cognition  agrees  with  the  object. 
This  agreement  is  necessary  to  the  cognition,  and  it  is  neces- 
sarily true,  or  it  cannot  be  agreement.  Cognition  is  knowing. 
When  one  cognizes  he  knows.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  one 
knowing  anything  by  means  of  cognition  disagreeing  with  the 
thing  known.  Psychologically,  then,  there  can  be  no  ditfer- 
ence  between  the  true  and  the  necessary  in  judgments.  Asser- 
torical  and  appodeictical  judgments  are  merely  true  judgments. 
If  a  judgment  is  true  it  cannot  be  false,  and  hence  it  is  neces- 
sarily true.  The  distinction  is  without  difference,  and  the 
division  of  the  modality  of  judgments  into  the  three  alleged 
functions  is  arbitrary  and  idle. 

An  obviously  false  judgment  cannot  be  a  condition  of  our 
cognition  of  truth.  Really,  there  can  be  no  judgment  in  which 
the  affirmation  is  merely  possible.  Blind  guess-work  is  not 
judgment.  If  an  affirmation  or  negation  is  merely  possible,  it 
is  not  probable,  and  is  more  in  the  nature  of  the  vagary  of 
delirium  than  the  judgment  of  a  thinking  mind.  So  far  as  we 
know  possible  affirmations  and  negations  may  be  innumerable. 
That  which  is  merely  possible  cannot  be  certain,  while  if  our 
cognition  of  truth  depends  upon  any  condition,  it  must  be  upon 
a  condition  certain.  Otherwise  the  supposed  cognition  will  be 
uncertain,  and  instead  of  being  cognition  it  will  be  mere  sur- 
mise or  conjecture,  depending  for  its  truth  upon  something 
which  possibly  may,  but  which  probably  does  not,  have  truth. 

Of  the  pure  conceptions  of  the  understanding  or  categories 
the  philosopher  says,  general  logic  abstracts  all  the  content  of 
cognition,  expecting  to  receive  representations  from  some 
other  quarter,  in  order  by  means  of  analysis,  to  convert  them 
into  conceptions.  That  on  the  contrary,  transcendental  logic 
has  lying  before  it  the  manifold  content  of  a  priori  sensibility. 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  375 

which  transcendental  sesthetic  presents  to  it  in  order  to  give 
matter  to  the  pure  conceptions  of  the  understanding,  without 
which  transcendental  logic  would  have  no  content,  and  be 
therefore  utterly  void.  That  space  and  time  contain  an  infinite 
diversity  of  determinations  of  pure  a  /)r/orz  intuitions,  yet  that 
they  are  the  condition  of  the  mind's  receptivity,  under  which 
alone  it  can  obtain  representations  of  objects,  and  which  conse- 
quently must  affect  the  conception  of  these  objects.  That  the 
spontaneity  of  thought  requires  that  this  diversity  be  examined 
after  a  certain  manner,  received  into  the  mind  and  connected, 
in  order  afterwards  to  form  a  cognition  out  of  it.  That  this 
process  is  synthesis.  That  synthesis  is  pure  when  the  diversity 
is  not  given  empirically,  but  a  priori.  That  representations 
must  be  given  before  there  can  be  any  analysis  of  them,  and  no 
conceptions  can  arise,  as  to  their  content,  analytically.  That 
synthesis  of  a  diversity  is  the  first  requisite  of  a  cognition;  it  is 
that  by  which  alone  the  elements  of  our  cognitions  are  collected 
into  a  certain  content;  it  is  the  first  step  in  the  investigation  of 
the  origin  of  our  knowledge.  That  synthesis  is  the  mere  oper- 
ation of  the  imagination — a  blind  but  indispensable  function  of 
the  soul,  without  which  we  should  have  no  cognition  what- 
ever. That  the  understanding  reduces  it  to  conceptions,  by 
means  of  which  we  attain  to  cognition.  That  pure  synthesis 
rests  upon  a  basis  of  a  priori  synthetical  unity.  That  numera- 
tion is  a  synthesis  according  to  conceptions,  because  it  takes 
place  according  to  a  common  basis  of  unity,  as  the  decade. 
That  by  means  of  this  conception  the  unity  in  synthesis  of  the 
manifold  becomes  necessary. 

All  these  assertions,  if  they  were  otherwise  valid,  are  vitiated 
by  the  use  of  the  term  a  priori  sensibility.  Sensibility  is,  by 
the  philosoper  himself,  defined  as,  or  declared  to  be,  the  capac- 
ity for  receiving  representations  through  the  mode  in  which  we 
are  affected  by  objects.  If  he  is  correct  in  this  there  can  be  no  a 
priori  sensibility.  When  a  representation  is  received,  an 
object  has  been  presented  to  the  sensuous  faculty.  Sensibility 
then  cannot  be  a  priori,  it  must  be  a  posteriori  in  its  opera- 
tions, whatever  they  may  be.  So  that  if  transcendental  logic 
has  nothing  lying  before  it  but  the  alleged  manifold  content  of 


376  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

«/)r/or/ sensibility  which  transcendental  aesthetic  presents  to 
it  in  order  to  give  matter  to  the  pure  conceptions  of  the  under- 
standing, it  can  have  no  content  and  must  be  utterly  void. 

Transcendental  aesthetic  cannot  present  the  alleged  mani- 
fold content  of  the  alleged  a  priori  sensibility  to  transcendental 
logic,  nor  to  anything  else.  The  alleged  manifold  content  of 
the  alleged  a  priori  sensibility  cannot  be  the  matter  of  a  pure 
conception  of  the  understanding.  Such  conception  can  have 
no  matter  in  any  way  derived  from  or  related  to  any  form  of 
sensibility.  Sensibility  has  nothing  primitively,  and  it  derives 
nothing  except  empirically.  The  philosopher  says  transcen- 
dental aesthetic  is  the  science  of  all  the  laws  of  sensibility 
a  priori.  But  1  have  just  shown  that  sensibility  a  priori  is 
impossible.  And  further,  sensibility  cannot  be  conceived  to 
have  any  content  until  something  (an  object)  is  presented  to 
the  sensuous  faculty,  because  sensibility  is,  he  says,  the  capac- 
ity for  receiving  representations  through  the  mode  in  which 
we  are  affected  by  objects.  Then  if  sensibility  has  a  content 
it  must  be  the  representation  of  an  object.  And  this  could  not 
be  the  matter  of  a  pure  conception  of  the  understanding, — it 
must  be  the  matter  of  an  empirical  conception  (intuition  }),  be- 
cause it  is  derived  through  some  kind  of  experience.  The 
philosopher  declares,  as  hereinbefore  quoted,  that  "pure  un- 
derstanding distinguishes  itself  not  merely  from  everything  em- 
pirical, but  also  completely  from  all  sensibility."  And  all 
sensibility  includes  sensibility  a  pr'wii,  if  there  is  such  thing. 
If  sensibility  is  the  capacity  for  receiving  representations  of 
objects  through  the  mode  in  which  we  are  attected  by  them, 
it  certainly  has  nothing  primitively,  and  derives  nothing  except 
empirically. 

If  space  and  time  contain  an  infinite  diversity  of  determina- 
tions of  intuitions,  they  certainly  do  not  contain  such  diversity 
of  determinations  of  a  priori  intuitions.  The  philosopher  as 
hereinbefore  quoted  says,  "an  intuition  can  take  place  only  in 
so  far  as  an  object  is  given  to  us,"- — ^in  which  case  a  priori  in- 
tuitions are  impossible.  If  space  and  time  are  "the  condition 
of  the  mind's  receptivity,"  under  which  alone  it  can  receive 
representations  of  50;;/^  objects,  and  which  consequently  must 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  377 

always  affect  the  representations  of  these  objects;  on  the  auth- 
ority of  the  philosopher's  own  declarations  I  have  shown  that 
space  and  time  are  themselves  objects  of  sensuous  intuition. 
The  philosophic  truth  is  that  thought  is  the  development  and 
coordination  of  sensations.  Then  thought  cannot  be  spontan- 
eous, and  there  is  no  such  thing  as  spontaneity  of  thought  to 
require  any  diversity  of  determinations  "to  be  examined  after  a 
certain  manner,  received  into  the  mind  and  connected,  in  order 
afterwards  to  form  a  cognition  out  of  it."  Thought  cannot 
proceed  alone  from  any  inherent  tendency  ot  the  mind  to  think. 
An  object  of  some  kind,  tangible  or  intangible,  must  be  in  some 
manner  presented  to  the  sensuous  faculty;  or  it  must  be,  in 
what  we  call  memory,  represented  to  the  mind,  before  there 
can  be  thought.  When  an  object  is  presented  or  represented 
it  is  not  exclusively  by  means  of  any  voluntary  act  of  the  mind 
alone.  It  is  fortuitous  to,  and  originally  caused  by  something' 
external  to  the  mind ;  so  the  mind  never  thinks  without  some 
measure  of  some  kind  of  constraint.  If  thought  were  spontan- 
eous it  would  not  be  caused  by,  nor  originate  from  the  effect 
of  an  object  upon  the  sensuous  faculty.  A  purely  voluntary 
thought  is  unthinkable.  Howeverslight  the  impulsion  may  be, 
the  presentation  or  representation  of  an  object  to  the  mind  im- 
plies thought  according  to  the  receptivity  of  the  sensuous  fiic- 
ulty,  and  in  exact  ratio  with  the  capacity  of  the  mind  to  de- 
velope  and  coordinate  the  sensations  produced  by  such  pre- 
sentation or  representation. 

If  synthesis  is  the  examination  of  the  diversity  of  determina- 
tions of  intuitions,  the  receiving  them  into  the  mind  and  con- 
necting them,  in  order  afterwards  to  form  a  cognition  out  of  it; 
if  it  is  the  process  of  joining  different  representations  to  each 
other,  and  comprehending  their  diversity  under  one  cognition, 
it  cannot  be  pure,  if,  in  order  that  the  synthesis  may  be  pure, 
the  diversity  must  not  be  given  empirically,  but  a  priori.  The 
diversity  of  the  determinations  of  intuitions  cannot  come  to  the 
mind  before  the  intuitions  themselves,  and  they  can  only  come 
with  or  by  means  of  the  presentation  of  objects  to  the  sensu- 
ous faculty.  Then  synthesis  must  be  empirical,  and  cannot  be 
a  priori. 


378  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE, 

Of  the  same  subject  the  philosopher  further  says,  "The  first 
thing  which  must  be  given  to  us  in  order  to  the  a  priori  cogni- 
tion of  objects,  is  the  diversity  of  the  pure  intuition;  the  syn- 
thesis of  this  diversity  by  means  of  the  imagination  is  the  sec- 
ond; but  this  gives,  as  yet,  no  cognition.  The  conceptions 
which  give  unity  to  this  pure  synthesis,  and  which  consist 
solely  in  the  representation  of  this  necessary  synthetical  unity, 
furnish  the  third  requisite  for  the  cognition  of  an  object,  and 
these  conceptions  are  given  by  the  understanding.  The  same 
function  which  gives  unity  to  the  different  representations  in  a 
judgment,  gives  also  unity  to  the  mere  synthesis  of  different 
representations  in  an  intuition;  and  this  unity  we  call  the  pure 
conception  of  the  understanding.  Thus,  the  same  understand- 
ing, and  by  the  same  operations,  whereby  in  conceptions,  by 
means  of  analytical  unity,  it  produced  the  logical  form  of  a 
judgment,  introduces,  by  means  of  the  synthetical  unity  of  the 
manifold  in  intuition,  a  transcendental  content  into  its  repre- 
sentations, on  which  account  they  are  called  pure  conceptions 
of  the  understanding,  and  they  apply  a  priori  to  objects,  a  re- 
sult not  within  the  power  of  general  logic." 

And  1  think  it  may  be  appropriately  added,  "nor  within  the 
power  of  any  logical  logic  whatever."  The  a  priori  cognition 
of  objects  being  now  shown  to  be  utterly  impossible,  and  the 
alleged  synthesis  of  the  diversity  of  the  alleged  pure  intuition 
being  confessedly  the  work  of  the  imagination,  no  object  hav- 
ing in  any  manner  been  given,  presented,  or  represented,  and 
thought  itself  being  as  a  necessary  consequence  impossible,  it 
would  seem  like  a  puerile  elaboration  of  a  groundless  fancy  to 
go  so  minutely  into  a  description  of  the  functions  and  their 
alleged  operation  in  an  exercise  which  cannot  take  place. 
Supposing  all  these  intricate  and  involved  processes  of  the 
mind  to  be  gone  through  with,  and  no  object,  or  no  suitable 
object,  should  be  given,  presented,  or  represented  to  the  sensu- 
ous faculty — what  have  we  then  but  shadow  ?  And  upon 
what  manner  of  substance  is  such  a  shadow  cast  ?  Many  pre- 
dicables  may  be  in  the  mind.  It  may  be  stored  with  qualities 
and  conditions  to  assign  to  and  predicate  of  the  countless  objects 
in  all  their  diversity  that  may  be  given.     But  to  predicate  any- 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  579 

thing  of  any  object  before  the  object  is  given,  that  is,  a  priori, 
the  mind  must  imagine  such  object.  If  such  object  should 
never  really  be  given,  the  process  is  idle.  If  such  object  should 
really  be  given,  the  propriety  of  the  anticipatory  predication  is 
at  once  a  question  of  experience,  and  knowledge  of  such  pro- 
priety or  impropriety  is  necessarily  empirical.  The  alleged 
synthetical  unity  of  the  manifold  in  intuition,  is  impossible  a 
priori.  Supposing  the  content  of  an  intuition  may  or  may  not 
be  very  variously  manifold,  depending  upon  the  object  given, 
and  the  manner  and  circumstances  of  its  presentation  or  repre- 
sentation, yet  an  object  must  be  given  before  there  is  the  intu- 
ition. The  synthetical  unity  of  the  manifold  in  such  intuition 
cannot  be  imagined  to  antecede  the  intuition  itself,  and  what- 
ever follows  the  giving  of  the  object  is  a  posteriori.  If  intuition 
is  correctly  defined  as  direct  apprehension,  or  cognition,  or  as 
immediate  knowledge,  it  would  seem  to  be  unity  itself  And 
while  it  might  be  manifold,  there  could  be  no  synthetical  unity 
of  such  manifold  because  there  would  be  no  time  for  synthesis 
to  take  place. 

It  may  not  be  amiss  here  to  notice  one  of  the  philosopher's 
examples  of  the  so-called  synthetical  propositions.  He  says, 
"A  straight  line  between  two  points  is  the  shortest,  is  a  syn- 
thetical proposition.  For  my  conception  of  straight  contains 
no  notion  of  quantity,  but  is  merely  qualitative.  The  concep- 
tion of  shortest  is  therefore  wholly  an  addition,  and  by  no  anal- 
ysis can  it  be  extracted  from  our  conception  of  a  straight  line. 
Intuition  must  therefore  here  lend  its  aid,  by  means  of  which 
and  this  only  our  synthesis  is  possible."  There  may  be  many 
lines  of  various  degrees  of  crookedness,  going  or  extending  by 
as  many  various  routes  from  one  point  to  another  point.  But 
between  two  points  no  other  than  a  straight  line  is  possible.  The 
moment  (or  the  point  at  which)  the  line  deviates  from  a 
straight  course,  the  part  of  it  involved  in  such  deviation  is  not 
between  the  two  points.  If  no  other  than  a  straight  line  be- 
tween two  points  is  possible,  the  proposition  that  a  straight 
line  between  two  points  is  the  shortest  is  more  absurd  than  syn- 
thetic. On  the  authority  of  the  philosopher's  own  declaration 
that   necessity   and  strict  universality  are  infallible  tests  of  the 


380  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

accuracy  of  a  priori  cognition,  and  conceding,  for  the  sake  of  the 
argument,  that  the  proposition  is  an  appropriate  one,  his  con- 
ception of  straight  as  to  the  supposed  line  between  two  points 
must  contain  the  notion  of  quantity.  On  such  hypothesis  it  is 
necessarily  true,  and  strictly  universal,  that  the  straight  is  the 
shortest  possible  line, — that  any  other  must  be  greater  in  quan- 
tity. The  conception  of  shortest,  then,  is  not  wholly  an  addi- 
tion, but  is  necessarily  and  universally  implied  and  included  in 
the  conception  of  straight  as  to  the  supposed  line  between  two 
points.  The  mind  cannot  think  a  straight  line  between  two 
points  except  as  the  most  direct  and  shortest  possible  route 
from  one  of  the  points  to  the  other.  The  thought  necessarily 
involves  the  notion  of  quantity, — the  length  of  the  supposed 
line.  The  conception  of  straight  comes  so  nearly  containing 
the  notion  of  quantity,  that  the  conception  of  shortest  is  the 
first  one  possible  in  any  analysis  of  the  conception  of  straight. 
The  very  moment  one  begins  to  examine  his  conception  of  a 
straight  line  between  two  points,  other  lines  are  necessarily 
supposed,  and'  they  not  only  are  necessarily  and  universally 
greater  in  quantity,  but  they  are  necessarily  and  universally 
thought  (at  the  moment)  as  greater  in  quantity,  and  the  notion 
of  the  lesser  quantity  in  the  straight  line  necessarily  and  uni- 
versally appears.  Of  course  one  may  think  a  straight  line  of 
indefinite  or  undetermined  extent  without  conceiving  any  def- 
inite notion  of  quantity;  but  when  he  thinks  a  straight  line  be- 
tween two  points,  that  is,  extending  from  one  of  the  points  to 
the  other,  the  notion  of  quantity  is  in  the  conception. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS. 

Conception  of  Cause  has  no  a  priori  Basis  in  the  Understanding — Necessity 
as  Basis  of  a  priori  Knowledge,  Insufficient — Necessity  itself  Known  only 
Empirically — ^  prior i-\sm  Inverts  Order  of  all  Supposable  Cognition — 
Intuition  is  some  Form  of  Apprehension  of  Phenomena — Sensation  the 
Basis  of  all  Intelligence — Content  of  Representation — Capacity  to  Have,  is 
not  Form  of,  Intuition — No  act  of  Understanding  can  be  Unconsciously 
Done — No  Purely  Spontaneous  Activity  of  Subject— Intuition  is  not  an  Un- 
decomposable  Mental  Act— Unity  (as  distinguished  from  union)  in  any 
Element  of  Thought  is  Unthinkable — Apperception  is  Empirical — Difficul- 
ties of  the  Critique — Cheap  Criticisms. 

Speaking  of  the  alleged  deduction  of  the  categories,  the 
Philosopher  says,  the  conception  of  cause  cannot  arise  from  ex- 
perience, but  must  have  an  a  priori  basis  in  the  understand- 
ing, or  be  rejected  as  a  mere  chimera.  That  it  demands  one 
thing  to  be  of  such  a  nature,  that  another  thing  necessarily  fol- 
lows, according  to  an  absolutely  universal  law.  That  to  the 
synthesis  of  cause  and  affect,  there  belongs  a  dignity  utterly 
wanting  in  any  empirical  synthesis. 

It  were  an  endless  undertaking,  the  attempt  to  test  the 
validity  of  all  the  declarations  of  the  philosopher  in  the  Critique. 
The  selection  of  those  most  worthy  controversial  attention  is 
difficult.  But  it  is  not  so  difficult  as  to  conceive  how  the  con- 
ception of  cause  can  have  an  a  prion  basis  in  the  understanding. 

Whatever  the  understanding  may  be,  whether  a  faculty  or 
a  condition, — thought  is  developed  and  coordinated  sensation. 
The  philosopher  says  it  is  the  understanding  which  thinks,  but 
it  would  seem  more  philosophical  to  say  that  understanding  is 
developed  and  coordinated  thought,  or  a  result  of  it.  Then 
conception  of  cause  can  have  no  a  prion  basis  in  the  under- 
standing, because  it  must  be  itself  of  empirical  derivation.  It 
cannot  be  before  thought,  and  thought  cannot  precede  sensa- 
tion.    So  conception  of  cause  must  arise  from  experience. 

If  the  synthesis  of  cause  and  effect  is  so  dignified  as  to  re- 
quire something  to  be  of  such  a  nature,  that  something  else 
(specific)  should  follow  from  it  necessarily,  and  according  to 


)82  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

an  absolutely  universal  law,  it  demands  that  which  in  the 
nature  of  the  human  mind  it  is  impossible  to  know  that  such 
synthesis  can  have.  The  mind  cannot  know  anything  until  it 
acquires  the  knowledge.  This  requires  experience, — the  devel- 
opment and  coordination  of  sensation,  followed  by  the  devel- 
opment and  coordination  of  thought. 

The  Philosopher  says  we  may  "collect  from  phenomena  a 
law,  according  to  which  this  or  that  usually  happens,  but  the 
element  of  necessity  is  not  to  be  found  in  it."' 

The  element  of  necessity  further  than  it  is  known  empirically 
is  not  to  be  found  in  anything.  Without  the  element  of  neces- 
sity empirically  known,  there  can  be  no  known  physical  law. 
With  the  thought  of  a  low  temperature,  congelation  of  sub- 
stances appears  to  the  mind;  but  Blackstone  says  the  King  of 
Siam  would  not  believe  the  Englishman  who  told  him  of  ice. 
Anyone  having  never  observed  the  effects  of  cold  would  prob- 
ably be  equally  as  incredulous.  The  conception  of  cold  as  a 
cause  of  the  phenomenon  cannot  be  a  priori  in  the  understand- 
ing, nor  can  it  have  an  a  priori  basis  in  the  understanding. 
Still  there  is  nothing  in  all  physics  more  necessary  or  universal 
than  this  effect  resulting  from  this  cause.  But  facts  must  be 
learned  in  some  way,  and  when  from  long  experience  (obser- 
vation) the  result  is  found  to  be  constant,  the  mind  becomes 
convinced  of  its  universality  and  necessity.  The  conception  of 
such  cause  is  empirically  derived.  Scientists  sterilize  air  and 
vegetal  infusions  to  destroy  the  germs  contained  in  them. 
They  know  empirically,  and  not  a  priori,  that  heat  destroys 
life.  Biogenesis  claims  to  have  vanquished  Abiogenesis  by 
means  of  such  experiments.  Heat  of  a  certain  degree  is  uni- 
versally and  necessarily  certain  to  destroy  life.  The  conception 
of  heat  as  a  cause  of  the  phenomenon  cannot  be  a  priori  in  the 
understanding. — nor  have  an  a  priori  basis  in  the  understand- 
ing. Still  there  is  nothing  in  all  physics  more  universal  or 
necessary  than  this  effect  resulting  from  this  cause.  But  facts 
must  be  learned  in  some  way,  and  when  from  long  experience 
(observation)  the  result  is  found  to  be  constant,  the  mind  be- 
comes convinced  of  its  universality  and  necessity.  The  con- 
ception of  the  cause  and  its  effect  is  an  empirical  synthesis. 


i 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  383 

The  doctrine  of  a  priori  conceptions  of  the  understanding  de- 
rives no  warrant  from  any  alleged  universality  and  strict  neces- 
sity. Nothing  can  be  known  to  be  universal  or  necessarily  so 
until  it  is  learned.  All  knowledge  is  derived;  and  the  capacity 
to  acquire  it,  the  conditions  of  its  acquisition,  the  principles  of 
the  sensuous  and  reasoning  faculties  on  which  it  must  be  ac- 
quired, are  themselves  no  part  of  knowledge.  One  may  as 
well  say  that  the  essential  conditions  of  growth  and  strength 
and  health  are  a  priori  growth  and  strength  and  health,  as  that 
the  essential  conditions  of  cognition  are  a  priori  cognition. 

The  proposition  that  "either  the  object  alone  makes  the  rep- 
resentation possible,  or  the  representation  alone  makes  the 
object  possible,"  is  unwarranted.  Without  an  object  repre- 
sented there  can  be  no  representation.  Without  a  representa- 
tion there  can  be  no  cognition.  That  we  can  conceive  of  ob- 
jects as  thus  and  so,  and  cannot  conceive  of  them  as  otherwise, 
does  not  make  it  necessary  that  they  should  be  thus  and  so. 
So  far  as  we  are  concerned,  and  so  far  as  our  capacity  to  con- 
ceive is  concerned,  objects  may  be  of  any  form  or  nature,  or 
they  may  not  be  at  all.  The  object  alone  cannot  make  the  rep- 
resentation possible ;  there  must  be  a  sensuous  faculty  endowed 
with  receptivity.  The  representation  alone  cannot  make  the 
object  possible,  any  more  than  one's  image  reflected  in  a  mirror 
makes  his  existence  possible.  The  representation  itself  is  pos- 
sible only  when  an  object  is  presented  to  a  sensuous  faculty 
endowed  with  receptivity.  So  the  possibility  of  a  priori  rep- 
resentation does  not  depend  upon  the  representation  alone 
making  the  object  possible ; — it  is  demonstrated  that  a  priori 
representation  is  already  unconditionally  impossible. 

He  says  that  in  case  representation  alone  makes  the  object 
possible,  although  it  does  not  produce  the  object  as  to  its  exist- 
ence, it  must  nevertheless  be  a  priori  determinative  in  relation 
to  the  object,  if  it  is  only  by  means  of  the  representation  that 
we  can  cognize  anything  as  an  object.  Representation  cannot 
be  a  priori  determinative  with  regard  to  an  object,  when  repre- 
sentation is  itself  impossible  until  an  object  is  given.  An  object 
cannot  be  given  indeterminately.  It  must  be  given  determi- 
nately  or  it  cannot  be  known  to  be  an  object. 


384  ETHICS  OF    LITERATURE. 

:  Representation  is  often  illusory.  A  straight  stick  set  per- 
pendicularly in  clear  water  cannot  be  made  to  appear  perpen- 
dicular below  the  surface.  The  slightest  declination  from  the 
perpendicular  makes  the  stick  appear  to  deflect  at  the  surface. 
The  representation  changes  while  the  object  remains  un- 
changed, yet  in  its  actuality  it  is  still  represented  (or  perhaps 
misrepresented)  in  the  apparently  bent  form.  Stars  of  immeas- 
urably different  distances  from  us  appear  to  be  the  same  dis- 
tance away.  The  earth  appears  to  be  flat,  and  the  sky  ap- 
pears to  be  a  great  dome  resting  upon  it  at  the  horizon. 
Through  the  clear  air  objects  appear  to  be  in  what  we  have 
come  to  regard  their  real  forms  and  colors.  Through  colored 
and  waved  glass  they  appear  to  be  in  different  forms  and  colors. 
Near  the  horizon  the  heavenly  bodies  appear  much  larger  than 
when  near  the  zenith.  If  objects  must  conform  to  our  cogni- 
tion, and  if  representation  makes  them  possible  (not  as  to  their 
existence,  but  as  phenomena),  then  the  straight  stick  is  actu- 
ally bent  by  the  submersion,  the  heavenly  bodies  are  all  equi- 
distant from  us,  the  earth  is  flat  and  the  sky  is  a  dome  resting 
upon  it  at  the  horizon,  the  heavenly  bodies  are  larger  near  the 
horizon  than  near  the  zenith,  and  they  cannot  be  at  the  nadir 
at  all  because  we  can  have  no  representation  of  them  there; 
objects  seen  through  different  intervening  media  change  form 
and  color,  and  countless  other  phenomena  actually  are  that 
which  we  know  they  actually  are  not. 

A  priori-ism  is  an  inversion  of  the  natural  order  and  sequence 
of  all  supposable  cognition.  Instead  of  supposing  the  possibil- 
ity of  our  cognition  of  objects  as  they  are,  it  supposes  the  pos- 
sibility of  their  existence  as  we  cognize  them. 

The  Philosopher  says,  "There  are  only  two  conditions  of 
the  possibility  of  a  cognition  of  objects ;  firstly,  Intuition,  by 
means  of  which  the  object,  though  only  as  a  phenomenon,  is 
given;  secondly.  Conception,  by  means  of  which  the  object 
which  corresponds  to  this  intuition  is  thought.  But  it  is  evi- 
dent from  what  has  been  said  on  aesthetic,  that  the  first  con- 
dition, under  which  alone  objects  can  be  intuited,  must  in  fact 
exist,  as  a  formal  bases  for  them,  a  priori  in  the  mind.  With 
this  formal  condition   of  sensibility,    therefore,  all   phenomena 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  385 

necessarily  correspond,  because  it  is  only  through  it  that  they 
can  be  phenomena  at  all;  that  is,  can  be  empirically  intuited 
and  given.  Now  the  question  is,  whether  there  do  not  exist 
a  'priori  in  the  mind,  conceptions  of  understanding  also,  as  con- 
ditions under  which  alone  something,  if  not  intuited,  is  yet 
thought  as  object.  If  this  question  be  answered  in  the  affirma- 
tive, it  follows  that  all  empirical  cognition  of  objects  is  neces- 
sarily conformable  to  such  conceptions,  since,  if  they  are  not 
presupposed,  it  is  impossible  that  anything  can  be  an  object  of 
experience.  Now  all  experience  contains,  besides  the  intuition 
of  the  senses  through  which  an  object  is  given,  a  conception 
also  of  an  object  that  is  given  in  intuition.  Accordingly  con- 
ceptions of  objects  in  general  must  lie  as  a  priori  conditions  at 
the  foundation  of  all  empirical  cognition;  and  consequently,  the 
objective  validity  of  the  categories,  as  a  priori  conceptions,  will 
rest  upon  this,  that  experience  (as  far  as  regards  the  thought) 
is  possible  only  by  their  means.  For  in  that  case  they  apply 
necessarily  and  a  j>n'or' to  objects  of  experience,  because  only 
through  them  can  an  object  of  experience  be  thought." 

Obscurity  and  profusion  are  the  ready  resources  of  philos- 
ophy, or  the  learned  jargon  which  passes  current  as  philosophy. 
But  the  Philosopher  who  relies  too  much  upon  them  may  cross 
his  own  trail,  unless  he  carefully  remembers  his  prior  postulates 
when  making  subsequent  declarations.  If  intuition  and  con- 
ception are  the  two  conditions  of  the  possibility  of  the  cogni- 
tion of  objects,  it  is  still  not  necessary  that  all  phenomena  nor 
indeed  that  any  phenomena  correspond  with  the  intuition.  The 
proposition  that  intuition  is  the  only  means  by  which  an  object, 
that  is,  only  as  a  phenomenon,  is  given,  can  only  amount  to 
this;  that  it  is  by  means  of  intuition  that  we  apprehend  phe- 
nomena, or  more  accurately,  that  our  apprehension  of  phenom- 
ena is  intuition.  But  this  must  necessarily  be  empirical,  and 
not  a  priori  intuition.  The  object  cannot  be  apprehended  until 
it  is  given,  and  when  it  is  given  it  becomes  to  us  a  phenom- 
enon. The  object  must  be  either  a  phenomenon  or  a  noumen- 
on,  and  as  noumenon,  it  is  not  given  at  all.  But  intuition  does 
not  give  the  object,  any  more  than  the  microscope  gives  the 
Bacillus.     It  is  the  means  by  which,  or  the  process  in  which, 


386  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

the  mind  takes  the  object  when  it  is  given,  just  as  the  thermo- 
pile is  the  means  by  which,  or  its  use  is  the  process  in  which, 
we  ascertain  the  temperature  given  by  a  certain  degree  of  heat. 
This,  of  course,  is  upon  the  hypothesis  that  intuition  is  itself  a 
faculty,  or  its  use  a  mental  instrumentality.  But  it  is  neither. 
It  is  a  mental  process,  or  perhaps  more  accurately,  it  is  an  es- 
sential prelude  to  a  mental  process,  the  whole  of  which  is  the 
cognition  of  an  object  when  it  is  given.  Now  why  should  an 
object  when  it  is  given,  and  so  becomes  to  us  a  phenomenon, 
necessarily  conform  to  or  correspond  with  the  intuition  ?  It  is 
not  a  phenomenon  until  it  is  given,  or  as  the  Philosopher  has 
said,  until  it  is  presented  to  the  sensuous  faculty,  —  what- 
ever that  may  be.  What  was  it  before  it  was  so  presented  ? 
Have  we  any  reason  to  believe  it  was  different  from  what  we 
find  it  when  it  is  presented  .^  If  not,  if  for  aught  we  know  or 
may  reasonably  suppose,  the  object  as  a  phenomenon  is  not  in- 
herently different  from  what  it  was  as  a  noumenon,  it  would 
seem  more  accurate  to  say  that  our  intuition  and  cognition  of 
it  conform  to  and  correspond  with  it,  than  to  say  that  it  must 
conform  to  and  correspond  with  them.  Does  the  fact  that  by 
means  of  intuition  we  discern  that  an  object  is  thus  and  so, 
render  it  necessary  for  the  object  to  be  thus  and  so  ?  For 
countless  ages  the  Binaries  have  appeared  to  be  single  stars. 
They,  as  objects,  as  phenomena,  have  been  intuited  and  cog- 
nized as  such,  until  comparatively  recent  astronomical  investi- 
gation has  disclosed  that  they  were  really  double,  revolving 
around  their  common  centers  of  gravity.  Until  such  discovery 
was  made  they  had  never  been  accurately  or  truly  intuited  or 
cognized.  The  faculties  of  intuition  and  cognition  were  then 
at  fault.  With  their  improvement  the  objects  the  double  stars 
are  intuited  and  cognized  as  they  are.  Did  they  formerly  conform 
to  or  correspond  with  the  faculties  of  intuition  and  cognition  ? 
If  not  then,  why  should  we  say  that  they  do  now  ?  Does  the 
apparently  unchangeable  conform  to  and  correspond  with  the 
palpably  changeable  ?  May  not  the  changeable  be  more  likely 
to  be  brought  to  conform  to  and  correspond  with  the  un- 
changeable ? 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  387 

To  say  that  intuition  as  a  condition  of  the  possibility  of  the 
cognition  of  objects,  "must  in  fact  exist,  as  a  formal  basis  for 
them,  a  pnori  in  the  mind,"  can  legitimately  signify  no  more 
than  that  the  mind  cannot  take  the  representation  of  an  object 
unless  it  is  endowed  with  the  capacity,  whatever  that  may  be, 
of  receiving  such  representation.  But  minds  have  such  capac- 
ity in  various  degrees  of  proficiency.  If  objects,  as  phenomena, 
must  necessarily  conform  to  and  correspond  with  this  faculty, 
it  ought  to  be  of  steadfast  uniformity  among  all  persons  and 
during  all  time.  There  ought  to  be  an  unvarying  standard  of 
intuitive  and  cognitive  faculty,  so  the  moon  need  never  be 
taken  for  a  green  cheese,  and  the  settling  and  shrinking  of 
house  walls  need  not  be  taken  for  the  tolling  off  of  the  time  by 
the  death  watch. 

How  can  we  suppose  there  can  exist  a  priori  in  the  mind, 
conceptions  of  understanding,  as  conditions  under  which  alone 
something,  if  not  intuited,  is  yet  thought  as  object  ?  It  is  al- 
ready shown  that,  according  to  the  Philosopher's  own  declara- 
tions, thought  cannot  precede  intuition,  that  sensation  must 
precede  both,  and  that  neither  can  accomplish  anything  like 
cognition  without  the  other.  If  he  is  correct  in  this,  it  does 
not  follow  "that  all  empirical  cognition  of  objects  is  necessarily 
conformable  to  such  conceptions;"  nor  that  "if  they  are  not 
presupposed,  it  is  impossible  that  anything  can  be  an  object  of 
experience."  Things  are  potentially  objects  of  experience  long 
before  the  mind  can  conceive  of  anything.  Objects  of  experi- 
ence are  objects  of  the  senses.  "The  lowest  form  of  vision 
appears  to  be  nothing  beyond  a  sensitiveness  to  the  proximity 
of  a  body  which  intercepts  the  light."  When  the  hydra  re- 
moves from  the  light  to  the  dark  side  of  the  vessel  in  which  it 
is  placed,  it  exhibits  some  intelligence.  It  seems  to  kno%v  the 
difference  or  to  know  that  there  is  a  difference  between  light 
and  darkness,  and  to  know  which  is  best  suited  to  it.  The 
light  and  darkness  are,  to  it,  objects  of  experience.  It  has  an 
empirical  cognition  of  them,  which  can  scarcely  be  supposed 
to  conform  to  an  a  priori  conception  of  them; — and  it  would  be 
equally  as  difficult  to  suppose  that  it  had  presupposed  them. 
These  phenomena,  light  and  darkness,  are  to  the  hydra  objects 


388  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

of  experience,  without  the  necessity,  or  even  the  possibility,  of 
its  having  any  a  priori  conception  of  them,  or  of  objects  in  gen- 
eral; and  hence  there  can  be  no  necessity  of  the  experience  con- 
forming to  any  a  priori  conception,  and  still  its  movements  ex- 
hibit a  degree  of  intelligence. 

As  no  other  time  is  fixed  for  the  human  mind  to  begin  to 
conform  to  the  laws  of  psychology  enacted  in  the  Critique,  it  is 
fair  to  presume  that  its  allegiance  to  such  laws  is  coeval  with 
its  existence.  The  earliest  manifestations  of  its  existence  are 
generally  the  cries  with  which  it  greets  the  midwife  on  its 
arrival  in  this  wicked  world.  It  has  experience  then  of  objects 
of  which  it  cannot  be  said  to  have  any  a  priori  conception.  At 
birth  no  mind  was  ever  known  to  exhibit  more  intelligence 
than  is  shown  by  the  amoeba  in  projecting  in  this  or  that  direc- 
tion a  prolongation  of  some  part  of  itself  and  attaching  it  to 
some  fixed  object  to  draw  itself  forward,  or  to  some  small  por- 
tion of  organic  matter  around  which  it  collapses,  and  which  it 
dissolves  or  absorbs  for  its  nutriment.  The  labia  of  the  infant 
cling  to  the  maternal  nipple  with  perhaps  less  tenacity,  but 
about  the  same  degree  of  intelligence  as  that  with  which  the 
tentacles  of  poulpe  adhere  to  the  limbs  of  the  drowned  mariner. 
They  each  have  experiences  of  objects,  but  it  is  impossible  to 
suppose  that  either  of  them  has  an  a  priori  conception  of  ob- 
jects in  general,  or  indeed  of  any  object  whatever.  That  the 
infant  may  rapidly  develop  a  mind,  while  the  poulpe  remains 
limited  to  a  meagre  instinct,  does  not  invalidate  the  illustration. 
Evolutionists  (and  even  the  philosopher  himself)  all  trace  mind 
back  to  its  alleged  origin  in  Sensation.  If  they  are  correct  in 
this,  every  exhibition  of  sensation  is  an  expression  (pro  tanto) 
of  intelligence. 

The  Philosopher  says  that  the  empirical  derivation  which 
some  philosophers  attribute  to  the  alleged  pure  conceptions  of 
the  understanding,  cannot  possibly  be  reconciled  with  the  fact 
that  we  do  possess  scientific  a  priori  cognitions,  namely,  those 
of  pure  mathematics  and  general  physics.  This  seems  more 
like  assertion  than  philosophy.  It  is  not  apparent  that  we  have 
a  priori  cognitions  of  pure  mathematics  and  general  physics, 
any  more  than  of  applied  mathematics  or  any  particular  topic 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  389 

that  may  engage  thought.  If  mathematics  is  the  science  of 
spatial  and  quantitative  relations,  it  is  a  system  of  calculation. 
The  symbols,  signs,  or  instrumentalities  used  in  the  process 
render  it  neither  more  nor  less  mathematics.  In  a  steeple- 
chase, the  width  of  the  ditches  and  the  height  of  the  hedges  are 
calculated  by  the  horse  and  not  by  the  rider,  and  as  they  are 
approached,  the  steed  measures  his  leap  so  as  to  be  under  full 
momentum  and  clear  the  obstacle,  without  having  to  divide 
a  leap  so  as  to  spring  from  the  most  advantageous  point.  A 
hawk  swoops  down  upon  a  barnyard,  and  a  fowl  flies  for  shel- 
ter. The  hawk  observes  this  and  changes  its  course  from 
directly  toward  the  fowl  to  a  point  in  advance  of  it,  and  veers 
just  enough  to  reach  that  point  just  when  the  fowl  reaches  it. 
An  elephant  directed  to  pick  up  a  penny  lying  by  a  wall  and 
beyond  the  reach  of  its  proboscis,  blew  violently  against  the 
wall  above  the  penny,  and  the  reflex  atmospherical  current 
brought  the  penny  within  its  reach.  Here  are  some  instances 
of  very  nice  calculation  of  time,  speed,  space,  and  their  rela- 
tions. According  to  the  Philosopher's  philosophy,  these  ani- 
mals had  scientific  a  priori  cognitions  of  pure  mathematics,  or 
a  priori  conceptions  of  pure  understanding,  relating  to  the  data 
of  consciousness,  which  guided  them  respectively  and  uner- 
ringly to  such  results.  Are  such  exhibitions  of  intelligence 
essentially  different  from  those  made  by  human  minds  in  in- 
numerable instances.f^  Is  intelligence  any  the  less  intelligence 
that  it  is  exhibited  by  a  quadruped  or  a  winged  biped  instead 
of  a  biped  without  wings.^  Can  either  of  the  animals  in  the 
instances  above  named  be  supposed  to  have  had  an  a  priori  con- 
ception of  any  kind  or  of  anything  whatever.!^  But  touch  the 
horn  of  a  snail  and  observe  how  quickly  the  slimy  little  creature 
shrinks  back  into  its  shell.  Does  it  not  exhibit  intelligence, — a 
discreet  fear  for  its  personal  safety?  Has  it  had  an  a  priori  con- 
ception of  danger  to  enable  it  to  experience  such  fear.^  It  acts 
as  though  it  really  had  some  mind, — and  doubtless  it  has,  but 
who  would  venture  the  assertion  that  it  has  had  an  a  priori  con- 
ception of  the  pure  understanding  in  order  that  it  might  think 
the  dangerous  object  from  which  it  shrinks.''  It  evidently  does 
think  the  dangerous  object,  and  experience  the  fear  of  it  when 


390  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

it  shrinks  from  it.  Now,  unless  we  maintain  that  the  snail  is 
capable  of  a  jmori  intuition,  or  a  iiriori  conceptions  of  the  pure 
understanding,  we  must  admit  that  experience  is  possible  with- 
out any  a  priori  conception  of  objects  in  general.  If  it  is  so  in 
any  instance  of  intelligent  action,  why  may  it  not  be  so  in  all  ? 

Of  the  deduction  of  the  alleged  pure  conceptions  ot  the  un- 
derstanding the  Philosopher  says,  "The  manifold  content  in 
our  representations  can  be  given  in  an  intuition  which  is  mere- 
ly sensuous — in  other  words,  is  nothing  but  susceptibility;  and 
the  form  of  this  intuition  can  exist  a  priori  in  our  faculty  of  rep- 
resentation, without  being  anything  else  but  the  mode  in  which 
the  subject  is  affected." 

This  dual  proposition  is  very  obscure,  and  it  is  difficult  to 
ascertain  its  meaning  so  as  to  give  it  intelligent  consideration. 
Taking  the  parts  in  their  order  the  question  occurs, — what  is  it 
that  is  nothing  but  susceptibility — the  manifold  content  in  our 
representations — or  the  merely  sensuous  intuition  ?  One  would 
scarcely  suppose  that  the  capacity  to  have  an  intuition,  the  sus- 
ceptibility to  the  effects  of  that  which  gives  rise  to  the  intuition, 
could  be  the  manifold  content  of  the  representation.  A  repre- 
sentation being  necessarily  a  representation  of  something,  its 
manifold  content  must  be  the  qualities,  attributes,  and  pecu- 
larities,  of  whatever  kind  and  nature  they  may  be,  which  serve 
to  distinguish  the  particular  thing  represented  from  other  things. 
In  a  representation  the  mind  must  see  the  particular  thing  rep- 
resented, separately  or  as  distinguished  from  other  things,  but 
not  without  relation  to  them.  Whatever  it  may  be  that  dis- 
tinguishes the  particular  thing  represented  from  other  things, 
and  thereby  furnishes  the  data  of  the  intuition  so  the  mind  can 
intuite  the  particular  thing,  must  (together  with  its  relations) 
be  the  content  of  the  representation  by  means  of  which  the  in- 
tuition is  possible.  Then  it  must  be  the  merely  sensuous  intu- 
ition which  the  Philosopher  means  to  say  is  nothing  but  sus- 
ceptibility. 

An  intuition  is  quantitative  or  substantive,  so  far  as  mental 
effects  can  be  regarded  as  such,  while  susceptibility  cannot  be 
regarded  as  other  than  qualitative, — that  is,  as  the  capacity  to 
have  intuition.     The  latter  part  of  the  proposition, — that  the 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  39 1 

form  of  this  intuition  can  exist  a  priori  in  our  fliculty  of  repre- 
sentation, without  being  anything  else  but  the  mode  in  which 
the  subject  is  affected, — has  no  legitimate  psychological  import. 

The  expression,  the  mode  in  which  the  subject  is  affected, 
means  the  mode  in  which  the  subject  is  affected  by  the  object, 
if  it  means  anything.  Different  objects  affect  the  subject  differ- 
ently, and  the  mode  in  which  the  same  object  will  affect  the 
subject  depends  upon  circumstances  external  to  the  subject. 
The  difference  in  the  mode  in  which  objects  affect  the  subject 
testifies  in  some  measure  the  difference  in  objects.  Every  ob- 
ject which  is  in  any  respect  different  from  any  other  object  will 
affect  the  subject  differently  from  such  diffeient  object.  Numer- 
ically speaking,  objects  are  infinite, — they  are  beyond  imagin- 
able computation.  The  mind  cannot  contain  a  priori  one  form 
for  each  and  every  intuition  it  may  have  on  the  presentation  of 
every  possible  object  to  the  sensuous  faculty.  If  such  form  is 
nothing  else  but  the  mode  in  which  the  subject  is  affected,  it 
cannot  exist  a  priori  in  the  faculty  of  representation.  The 
mode  in  which  the  subject  is  affected  is  variable,  depending 
upon  the  mental  condition  of  the  subject,  and  the  circumstances 
attending  the  presentation  of  the  object. 

The  subject's  capacity  to  be  affected  at  all  by  an  object, 
measures  the  possibility  of  the  mind's  having  an  intuition  of 
the  object,  the  form  ot  which  intuition  depends  upon  some- 
thing external  to  the  mind.  Such  capacity  cannot  be  the  form 
of  the  intuition  itself  If  the  intuition  varies  with  the  various 
objects  and  the  circumstances  attending  their  presentation,  the 
form  of  such  intuition  cannot  exist  a  priori  in  the  faculty  of  rep- 
resentation,— but  the  subject's  capacity  to  receive  representa- 
tions, or  to  be  affected  in  any  manner  by  any  object,  may  be  a 
primitive  and  inherent  quality  or  property  of  the  subject.  The 
mode  in  which  the  subject  is  affected  cannot  existapwiin 
the  faculty  o\  representation  unless  the  subject  must  necessarily 
be  affected  in  but  one  mode  under  any  and  all  possible  circum- 
stances that  might  attend  the  presentation  of  the  object.  Ob- 
viously this  could  not  be.  An  electric  light  which  can  scarcely 
be  seen  at  noon  is  dazzling  at  night.  The  surfeited  appetite 
revolts  against  the  most  palatable  food,  and  the  rarest  delicacies 


392  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE, 

become  nauseating.  Music  that  charms  and  exhilarates  for  a 
time,  becomes  monotonous,  and  finally  annoying.  Charity 
and  courage  without  unnecessary  display,  command  our  esteem 
and  admiration;  exhibited  with  a  flourish,  they  deserve  and 
have  our  contempt.  The  form  of  the  intuition  of  these  objects 
depends  upon  the  condition  of  the  mind  and  the  circumstances 
attending  their  exhibition.  Under  some  circumstances  the  in- 
tuition may  be  of  one  form,  while  under  different  circumstances 
it  will  be  of  a  different  form.  If  the  form  were  a  priori  in  the 
faculty  of  representation  the  intuition  were  necessarily  of  but 
one  form,  and  the  condition  of  the  mind  and  circumstances 
attending  the  presentation  of  the  object  would  be  without 
influence  to  vary  or  affect  the  form  of  the  intuition.  This,  it  is 
shown,  is  impossible. 

Proceeding  with  the  alleged  deduction,  the  Philosopher  says, 
— the  conjunction  of  a  manifold  in  intuition  never  can  be  given 
to  us  by  the  senses ;  that  it  cannot  therefore  be  contained  in 
the  pure  form  of  sensuous  intuition,  for  it  is  a  spontaneous  act 
of  the  faculty  of  representation.  That  as  we  must,  "to  dis- 
tinguish it  from  sensibility  entitle  this  faculty  understanding; 
so  all  conjunction — whether  conscious  or  unconscious,  be  it  of 
the  manifold  in  intuition,  sensuous  or  non-sensuous,  or  of  sev- 
eral conceptions — is  an  act  of  the  understanding.  To  this  act 
we  shall  give  the  general  appellation  of  synthesis,  thereby  to 
indicate,  at  the  same  time,  that  we  cannot  represent  anything 
as  conjoined  in  the  object  without  having  previously  conjoined 
it  ourselves.  Of  all  mental  notions,  that  of  conjunction  is  the 
only  one  which  cannot  be  given  through  objects,  but  can  be 
originated  only  by  the  subject  itself,  because  it  is  an  act  of  its 
purely  spontaneous  activity.  *  *  *  *  That  the  possibility 
of  conjunction  must  be  grounded  in  the  very  nature  of  this  act, 
and  that  it  must  be  equally  valid  for  all  conjunction;  and  that 
analysis,  which  appears  to  be  its  contrary,  must,  nevertheless, 
always  presuppose  it;  for  where  the  understanding  has  not 
previously  conjoined,  it  cannot  dissect  or  analyze,  because  only 
as  conjoined  by  it,  must  that  which  is  to  be  analyzed  have  been 
given  to  our  faculty  of  representation." 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  39_^ 

If  the  conjunction  of  a  manifold  in  intuition  cannot  be  given 
us  by  the  senses,  but  must,  whether  conscious  or  unconscious, 
be  an  act  of  the  understanding,  the  mind  will  never  accomplish 
much  in  the  way  of  conjoining  such  manifold.  What  is  the 
alleged  manifold  in  intuition  ?  How  can  the  understanding 
unconsciously  conjoin  such  alleged  manifold?  Is  it  possible  to 
imagine  an  act  of  the  understanding  unconsciously  done  ? 
What  is  understanding  ?  If  it  is  the  intellectual  faculty,  the 
rational  powers  collectively  conceived  and  designated,  then 
what  are  they  ?  What  can  they  accomplish  without  thought  ? 
What  can  be  thought  unconsciously  ?  The  manifold  content 
in  intuition  may  be  the  elements  composing  the  substance  of 
the  intuition.  Suppose  an  intuition  of  an  incorporeal  object, — 
for  instance,  charity.  It  is  sufficiently  a  substantive  to  be  the 
object  of  a  sensuous  intuition.  It  may  be  felt, — the  several 
senses  are  so  many  different  modes  of  feeling.  The  manifold 
in  such  intuition  may  be  the  several  elements  and  characteris- 
tics of  an  act  which  combine  to  make  the  act  charitable.  For 
instance,^ — an  enthusiast,  with  more  zeal  than  wisdom  in  advo- 
cating some  heresy  may  make  himself  ridiculous.  His  hobby 
may  have  attracted  attention  and  deserved  intelligent  consid- 
eration. It  may  be  examined  by  some  one  of  superior  capac- 
ity, and  he  may  utterly  demolish  it.  This  may  be  done  in  kind, 
considerate,  and  respectful  terms,  and  the  argument  in  which 
it  is  done  may  even  raise  the  mistaken  bigot  in  the  estimation 
of  all  who  read  or  hear  the  argument  in  which  his  heresy  is 
exploded.  The  reviewer  may  make  the  bigot's  sincerity  prom- 
inent, and,  while  showing  his  fallacy,  he  may  also  labor  to 
show  that  the  error  is  not  one  which  was  at  all  unlikely.  The 
manifold  in  intuition  of  charity  so  exhibited,  consists  of  the 
apparent  error  of  the  enthusiast,  his  deserving  of  rebuke,  and 
the  demolition  of  his  doctrine  done  by  a  superior  without  mal- 
ice.    Now  these  are  all  conjoined  in  this  intuition. 

The  Philosopher  says  this  conjunction  "cannot  be  given 
through  objects,  but  can  be  originated  only  in  the  subject  itself, 
because  it  is  an  act  of  its  purely  spontaneous  activity."  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  the  subject's  purely  spontaneous  activity. 
In  order  that  there  may  be  a  manifold  in  intuition,  there  must 


394  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

be  an  intuition.  Intuition  cannot  be  spontaneous, — an  object 
must  be  presented  to  the  sensuous  faculty,  and  the  intuition 
must  be  provoked.  Its  manifold  then  must  be  perceived  or 
thought  at  the  time  of  or  after  its  inception.  Conjunction  of 
this  manifold  cannot  be  supposed  to  precede  the  perception  or 
thought  of  the  manifold.  Wherever  the  conjunction  takes 
place  it  follows  and  is  provoked  by  the  presentation  of  the  ob- 
ject of  the  intuition  to  the  sensuous  faculty.  As  it  is  impossible 
to  suppose  it  to  take  place  otherwise,  it  cannot  be  an  act  of  the 
subject's  purely  spontaneous  activity. 

Conjoining  the  manifold  in  intuition  may  be  the  work  of 
thought,  but  it  still  cannot  be  an  act  of  the  subject's  purely 
spontaneous  activity.  No  mind  ever  performed  such  an  act. 
The  act  of  conjunction  is  provoked,  ultimately  by  the  presenta- 
tion or  representation  of  the  object  to  the  sensuous  faculty, 
originating  or  causing  the  intuition ;  this  gives  rise  to  thought 
in  which  conjunction  of  the  manifold  takes  place,  so  it  is  given 
through  objects  and  by  the  senses. 

One  of  the  most  startling  of  the  above  quoted  propositions 
is  the  one  that,  "where  the  understanding  has  not  previously 
conjoined,  it  cannot  dissect  or  analyze."  If  this  were  true, 
analysis  would  be  a  useless  labor.  The  only  possibly  legiti- 
mate office  of  analysis  is  to  ascertain  the  constituents  of  a  com- 
posite, and  their  character.  If  the  same  understanding  which 
is  to  analyze,  has  already  conjoined  these  constituents  (mani- 
fold in  intuition),  it  must  have  known  what  they  were,  and 
their  character.  Otherwise  the  understanding  could  not  have 
very  understanding^  conjoined  them.  The  Philosopher  bases 
this  proposition  on  another,  viz.,  only  as  conjoined  by  the  un- 
derstanding, "must  that  which  is  to  be  analyzed  have  been 
given  to  our  faculty  of  representation."  Here  he  reverses  the 
order  in  which  his  mental  processes  have  been  proceeding. 
Hitherto  representation  has  preceded  understanding.  Under- 
standing is  now  in  advance,  conjoining  the  manifold  in  intui- 
tion in  order  that  the  representation  may  be  afterwards  analyzed 
by  the  same  understanding.  Of  course  that  which  is  not  in 
conjunction  cannot  be  analyzed;  that,  the  parts  of  which  are 
not  together,  cannot  be  separated  into  its  parts.     But  there  is 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  39^5 

no  logic  in  combining  merely  for  the  sake  of  afterward  sepa- 
rating,— nor  in  the  supposition  that  the  same  fiiculty  can  spon- 
taneously conjoin  that  which  it  can  analyze  only  by  or  after 
presupposing  its  conjunction. 

If  there  is  a  manifold  in  intuition,  and  if  intuition  is  suscept- 
ible to  analysis,  then  Herbert  Spencer's  definition  of  intuition  is 
seriously  at  f^iult,  He  says  it  is  an  undecomposable  mental 
act, — an  immediate  perception  for  which  no  reason  can  be 
given.  The  distinction  then  between  it  and  understanding 
would  seem  to  be  with  scarcely  a  difference,  unless  it  were  in 
degree.  Understanding,  regarded  either  as  a  mental  faculty, 
or  as  a  substantive  result  of  a  mental  process,  is  simply  an 
advanced  stage  of  or  refinement  upon  intuition.  The  great 
concern  of  philosophy  seems  to  be  to  prove  propositions  of 
various  degrees  of  probability  and  perplexity,  by  reference  to 
subsumed  propositions  which  it  says  cannot  themselves  be 
proved  by  any  means, — the  alleged  fundamental  principles  or 
primitive  cognitions.  Its  authors  write  as  though  a  standard  of 
mentality  were  established  and  their  readers  had  attained  to  it. 
Their  illustrations  generally  assume  that  their  readers  are 
acquainted  with  first  principles  and  simple  truths,  and  conse- 
quently agree  in  their  cognitions  of  them.  And  if  intuition  is 
an  undecomposable  mental  act,  an  immediate  perception  for 
which  no  reason  can  be  assigned,  there  can  be  no  manifold  in 
intuition,  and  all  persons  knowing  anything  must  be  acquaint- 
ed with  first  principles  and  simple  truths,  and  conseqently  must 
agree  in  their  cognitions  of  them.  In  such  case  there  can  be.no 
analysis  of  intuition  or  of  the  representation  producing  or 
accompanying  it. 

But  intuition  is  not  an  undecomposable  mental  act,  and  it 
can  be  proved.  That  a  foot  (as  a  measure  of  matter  or  space) 
is  more  than  an  inch,  may  be  known  by  the  mechanic  as  well 
and  conclusively  as  by  the  mathematician.  It  may  be  known 
to  be  a  necessary  and  necessarily  immediate  perception  of  the 
mind.  It  is  not  an  undecomposable  mental  act  from  the  fact 
that  it  must  be  learned  before  it  is  known,  and  it  can  be  learn- 
ed only  by  a  series  of  mental  acts,  including  comparison  and 
calculation.     It  can  be  proved  by  dividing  the  foot  into  inches., 


396  ETHICS  OF   LITERATURE. 

or  by  adding  together  a  sufficient  number  of  inches  to  make 
the  foot,  or  by  filling  the  measure  of  each  with  substance  and 
comparing  their  quantities  and  calculating  how  many  of  the 
one  will  be  required  to  equal  the  other.  Apart  from  the  meas- 
urement of  substance  or  space  neither  the  inch  nor  the  foot  is 
anything  whatever,  and  neither  is  either  more  or  less  than  the 
other.  Yet  even  then  they  are  each  the  object  of  intuition,  and 
may  be  presented  or  represented  to  the  sensuous  faculty  so  as 
to  give  rise  to  the  intuition,  although  neither  can  be  imagined 
except  as  in  space.  The  difference  between  them,  as  meas- 
ures, or  that  there  is  such  difference,  is  known  intuitively,  that 
is,  it  is  known  universally,  directly,  and  necessarily ;  it  is  an 
intuition.  And  yet  the  intuition  is  not  an  undecomposable 
mental  act,  and  may  be  proved.  Indeed  it  must  be  proved,  or 
be  susceptible  of  proof,  in  order  to  be  an  intuition ;  and  it  can 
only  be  proved  by  decomposition. 

The  manifold  in  this  intuition,  the  difference,  (or  that  there 
is  such  difference)  between  an  inch  and  a  foot,  are  not  con- 
joined by  the  understanding,  nor  by  any  mental  faculty  or  pro- 
cess whatever.  The  manifold  are  already  conjoined  in  the  in- 
tuition at  the  instant  of  its  inception.  The  understanding  does 
not  have  to  think  them  into  the  intuition  in  order  that  they 
may  be  there.  The  only  means  by  which  the  understanding 
can  know  them  to  be  there,  is  by  analyzing  the  intuition  and 
finding  it  composed  of  or  containing  the  alleged  manifold. 

The  Philosopher  transcends  human  thought  when  he  says, 
"The  conception  of  conjunction  includes,  besides  the  concep- 
tion of  the  manifold  and  of  the  synthesis  of  it,  that  of  the  unity 
of  it  also."  Of  course  there  can  be  no  conjunction  where  there 
is  no  manifold  to  be  conjoined,  and  the  conception  of  conjunc- 
tion necessarily  includes  that  of  such  manifold  and  the  synthesis 
of  it.  But  the  unity  of  it  is  quite  another  thing.  If  unity  is 
oneness,  the  use  of  the  term  neutralizes  the  declaration.  There 
is  quite  a  difference  between  unity  and  union.  Synthesis  (com- 
bination) produces  or  results  in  union,  but  it  cannot  be  sup- 
posed to  produce  or  result  in  unity.  Unity  cannot  be  supposed 
to  be  produced  or  to  result  at  all,  but  wherever  it  is  supposed 
it  must  be  supposed  to  have  always  been.     If  unity  is  properly 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  397 

affirmed  of  a  supposed  simple  substance  or  indivisible  monad 
in  the  sphere  of  physical  existence,  it  can  have  no  analogous 
application  in  the  realm  of  mental  activity.  No  mental  act  can 
be  undecomposable.  The  simplest  perception  of  the  simplest 
object  is  composite.  Herbert  Spencer  says,  "Where  intelli- 
gence is  but  little  evolved,  a  single  sensation,  as  of  scent,  serves 
the  organism  for  an  index  of  the  combined  attributes  with 
which  such  scent  is  connected;  and  similarly,  in  undeveloped 
language  a  simple  sound  is  used  to  indicate  a  complex  idea." 
To  anyone  who  will  consider  the  matter,  it  will  clearly  appear 
that  unity,  as  distinguished  from  union,  in  any  element  of 
thought  is  not  only  impracticable,  but  it  is  entirely  unthinkable. 

In  a  foot  note  the  Philosopher  says,  "Whether  representa- 
tions are  in  themselves  identical,  and  consequently  whether  one 
can  be  thought  analytically  by  means  of  and  through  the  other, 
is  a  question  which  we  need  not  at  present  consider.  Our 
consciousness  of  the  one,  when  we  speak  of  the  manifold,  is 
always  distinguishable  from  our  consciousness  of  the  other; 
and  it  is  only  respecting  the  synthesis  of  this  (possible)  con- 
sciousness that  we  here  treat.' 

But  a  moment's  reflection  shows  that  there  can  be  no  con- 
sciousness of  the  one,  entirely  distinct  from  consciousness  of 
the  other,  in  any  manifold.  E  pluribus  unum,  the  twain  shall 
be  one  flesh,  and  the  Holy  Triune,  are  expressions  of  absolutely 
unintelligible  nonsense.  So,  if  the  term  Synthetical  Unity  has 
any  legitimate  meaning,  it  is  by  virtue  of  a  misuse  of  the  term 
unity  for  union  or  combination. 

The  Philosopher  says,  "That  representation  which  can  be 
previously  to  all  thought,  is  called  intuition.  All  the  diversity 
or  manifold  content  of  intuition,  has,  therefore,  a  necessary 
relation  to  the  1  think,  in  the  subject  in  which  this  diversity  is 
found.  But  this  representation,  I  think,  is  an  act  of  spontaneity ; 
that  is  to  say,  it  cannot  be  regarded  as  belonging  to  pure  sensi- 
bility. I  call  it  pure  apperception,  in  order  to  distinguish  it 
from  empirical,  or  primitive  apperception,  because  it  is  a  self- 
consciousness  which,  whilst  it  gives  birth  to  the  representation 
1  think,  must  necessarily  be  capable  of  accompanying  all  our 
representations,      It  i§  in  all  acts  of  consciousness  one  and 


^i)S^  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

the  same,  and  unaccompanied  by  it,  no  representation  can 
exist  for  me.  The  unity  of  this  apperception  I  call  the  transcen- 
dental unity  of  self-consciousness,  in  order  to  indicate  the 
possibility  of  a  priori  cognition  arising  from  it." 

If !  have  already  demonstrated  the  impossibility  of  a  priori 
cognition,  it  would  seem  to  be  scarcely  profitable  to  discuss 
the  propriety  or  feasibility  of  the  means  by  which. the  Philoso- 
pher claims  it  may  be  produced.  But  for  the  sake  of  the  argu- 
ument,  if  we  suppose  a  priori  cognition  to  be  a  possibility,  it 
does  not  follow  that  it  can  arise  from  the  alleged  unity  of  apper- 
ception. Apperception  is  itself  empirical.  No  one  was  ever 
conscious  of  himself  or  self-conscious  until  he  experienced  his 
existence.  There  cannot  be,  then,  any  such  thing  as  transcen- 
dental unity  of  apperception  or  of  self-consciousness.  Self-con- 
sciousness is  merely  thinking  one's  self  in  connection  with  and 
relation  to  his  environment;  and  he  cannot  otherwise  be 
thought.  This  thought  is  merely  the  coordination  and  devel- 
opment of  the  sensations  one  has  of  himself  in  such  connection 
and  relation.  These  sensations  are  all  experiences  or  results  of 
experiences  which  one  has  of  himself  in  such  connection  and 
relation.  They  may  be  synthetized  or  combined  into  one  gen- 
eral self-consciousness,  and  habit  may  render  the  process  auto- 
matic, or  so  nearly  so  that  one  is  apparently  unconscious  of 
the  process.  But  an  analysis  of  apperception  shows  that  it  is 
a  composite,  formed  from  empirical  sensations,  experiences  of 
self  in  connection  with  and  relation  to  environment.  If  this  is 
correct  there  is  no  such  thing  as  transcendental  unity  of  self- 
consciousness. 

I  come  now  to  a  proposition  of  the  Philosopher's  which  is 
difficult  to  restate,  but  which  conclusively  shows  that  his  entire 
Critique  is  in  reality  a  system  of  apologetics,  as  I  have  before 
stated.  It  is  substantially  this, — some  one  may  propose  a 
species  of  preformation  system  of  pure  reason,  that  the  cate- 
gories are  neither  a  priori  principles  of  cognition,  nor  empirical, 
but  subjective  aptitudes  for  thought,  exercised  in  harmony 
with  the  natural  laws  regulating  experience.  His  objections  to 
this  are,  that  we  cannot  say  where  to  stop  in  the  employment 
of- predetermined  aptitudes,  and  the  categories  would  lose  the 


i 


MYSTIFIED   METAPHYSICS.  399 

character  of  necessity  which  is  essentially  involved  in  the  very 
conception  of  them.  That  one  could  not  then  say  the  effect  is 
necessarily  connected  with  its  cause,  but  only,  that  one  is  so 
constituted  that  he  can  think  this  representation  only  as  so  con- 
nected. That  this  is  just  what  the  skeptic  wants.  That  in 
such  case,  all  our  knowledge  depending  on  the  supposed  ob- 
jective validity  of  our  judgment,  is  mere  illusion.  That  we 
could  not  dispute  on  that  which  depends  on  the  manner  in 
which  the  subject  is  organized. 

This  appears  to  involve,  or  rather  to  be,  a  contradiction  of 
the  entire  doctrine  of  a  joriori  cognition,  and  the  doctrine  that 
objects  must  conform  to  our  cognitions  of  them.  If  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  subject  is  organized  is  not  to  be  depended 
upon,  if  its  predetermined  aptitude  for  thought  does  not  pro- 
duce knowledge  objectively  valid,  but  mere  illusion,  there  cer- 
tainly cannot  be  any  a  priori  cognition  that  is  trustworthy.  An 
a  priori  cognition,  if  possible  at  all.  necessarily  depends  for  its 
validity  upon  the  manner  in  which  the  subject  is  organized.  It 
must  be  an  entirely  subjective  state  of  consciousness,  or  knowl- 
edge of  an  object  not  yet  given.  A  cognition  of  a  given  object 
is  empirical  or  a  posteriori.  If  objects  must  conform  to  our  cog- 
nitions of  them,  then  all  knowledge  of  objects  necessarily  de- 
pends on  the  manner  in  which  the  subject  is  organized,  be- 
cause such  cognitions  must  conform  to,  or  be  just  such  as  can 
be  produced  by  the  subject  as  organized.  If  there  is  any  valid- 
ity or  sound  sense  in  the  doctrine  of  a  priori-ism  at  all,  it  is  be- 
cause the  manner  in  which  the  subject  is  organized  renders  it 
necessary  that  a  j^riori  cognition  be  of  such  objective  validity, 
that  the  object  itself  when  given  must  conform  to  it.  Whether 
one  can  say  a  jyriori  that  the  effect  is  necessarily  connected  with 
its  cause  in  the  object,  necessarily  must  depend  upon  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  subject  is  organized.  The  subject  must  be  so 
organized  that  it  can  have  such  a  priori  cognition,  to  which  the 
object  (connection  of  cause  and  effect)  must  necessarily  con- 
form. 

It  becomes  clear  that  in  less  than  one  page  the  Philosopher 
has  conceded  away  the  entire  argument  of  more  than  a  hun- 
dred pages.     Metaphysics,  as  a  subject  of  philosophic  disquisi-- 


40O  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

tion,  is  essentially  fugitive  and  volatile.  It  is  difficult  to  lay 
hold  upon  it  sensibly,  and  intelligibly  trace  any  thread  of  argu- 
ment relating  to  it  to  final  appreciable  results.  If  one  attempts 
to  construct  a  system  of  it  of  such  proportions  and  character  as 
to  make  it  available  as  a  weapon  of  offense  or  defense  against 
a  so-called  skepticism,  he  certainly  ought  not  to  assume  any- 
thing nor  assert  anything  that  cannot  be  conclusively  demon- 
strated. Above  all,  he  ought  not  to  allow  any  actual  contra- 
dictions to  appear  in  the  work.  The  Critique  of  Pure  Reason 
is  the  crowning  effort  of  a  recognized  intellectual  Hercules.  I 
think  it  is  now  shown  to  be  a  shapeless,  incongruous  mass  of 
assumption  and  sophistry.  The  exceedingly  tedious  and  in- 
volved style  of  its  expression,  together  with  the  dry  and  un- 
fruitful nature  of  the  subject  itself,  have  perhaps  prevented  its 
ever  being  thoroughly  analyzed  by  any  one  caring  to  hazard  an 
opinion  at  variance  with  that  of  a  philosopher  of  such  eminence. 
Those  who  have  disagreed  with  him  have  generally  misstated 
his  doctrines,  and  couched  their  own  disapproval  in  terms  that 
commit  themselves  to  nothing  definite  except  their  unintelligi- 
ble objections  to  his  philosophy.  The  work  is  too  voluminous 
to  justify  a  complete  analysis  of  all  its  propositions,  and  the 
exposure  of  all  its  errors  and  inconsistencies.  But  its  funda- 
mental principles  are  embodied  in  the  first  one  hundred  pages 
of  Meiklejohn's  translation,  to  the  consideration  of  which  this 
and  the  two  chapters  next  preceding  it  are  devoted. 

4t  is  really  amusing  to  read  some  of  the  commendations  as 
well  as  strictures  upon  the  doctrines  of  the  Philosopher,  written 
by  those  who  show  in  writing  them  that  they  have  not  grasped 
the  thought  of  the  Philosopher.  Such  praises  and  criticisms 
are  cheap.  Almost  anyone  may  indulge  in  them.  It  is  quite 
another  thing  to  take  a  deep  philosophy  of  a  world  wide  repu- 
tation, and  an  almost  universally  admitted  soundness,  written 
in  the  style  of  the  Critique,  and  study  out  its  fundamental  prin- 
ciples, and  trace  its  essential  doctrines  to  their  necessary  logical 
results.  But  I  believe  that  it  is  now  done,  and  that  the  reader 
of  these  chapters  who  will  study  the  Critique  in  the  light  of 
the  exposition  here  given,  will  discover  that  it  is  a  laboriously 
learned  effort  to  fortify  apologetics  generally  in  the  stronghold 


MYSTIFIED    METAPHYSICS.  4OI 

of  the  very  Reason  from  the  standpoint  of  which  an  alleged 
Skepticism  has  made  its  most  formidable  attacks  upon  Relig- 
ion. I  believe  he  will  also  discover  the  necessarily  absolute 
futility  of  all  effort,  either  to  impair  or  sustain  any  Religion  by 
any  attack  or  defence  depending  for  its  validity  upon  any  prin- 
ciple of  human  Reason ;  that  all  Religion  is  necessarily  a  matter 
of  faith  pure  and  simple,  and  that  with  all  their  differences  no 
more  or  better  reason  can  be  assigned  for  the  validity  of  any 
one  religion  than  for  that  of  any  other.  I  believe  he  will  also 
discover  that  all  the  so-called  additions  to  our  knowledge, 
made  by  Reason  from  alleged  a  priori  conceptions  of  the  Un- 
derstanding, and  alleged  a  priori  intuitions  and  cognitions,  are 
so  much  learned  guess-work,  based  upon  assumptions  con- 
flicting with  all  possible  experience,  and  the  validity  of  which 
cannot  be  tried  by  any  test  of  more  known  validity  than  that 
of  the  assumptions  themselves. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

SCIENTIFIC  CIRCUMLOCUTION. 
Press-notices  of  Publications — Interpretation  of  Philosophies — No  Division  of 
Parties  in  Knowledge — No  Fundamental  Principles — Absolute  Certainty, 
Unthinkable — Consciousness  Necessarily  Empirical — Propositions  must 
Contain  Subject,  Copula,  and  Predicate — Predicating  a  thing  of  Itself  is  no 
Proposition — There  can  be  no  Consciousness  without  Self-consciousness — 
Activity  and  Passivity  to  be  Reciprocal,  must  Determine  each  Other — 
Fichte's  Example  of  Interchangeable  Propositions  is  mere  Difference  in  the 
Form  of  one  Proposition — The  Validity  of  Memory — The  Past  an  Actuality 
— Memory  is  not  Purely  of  the  Mind — Religion  incompatible  with  Reason — 
Philosophy's  Limit  of  Infmity. 

In  the  preface  to  a  Critical  Exposition  of  Fichte's  Science  of 
Knowledge  it  is  proposed  to  'i  show  as  occasion  may  require 
in  what  way  German  thought  contains  the  natural  comple- 
ment or  much  needed  corrective  of  British  speculation. "  Were 
there  a  difference  between  thought  and  speculation,  merely  as 
such,  one  of  them,  and  it  may  not  matter  which,  may  be  the 
natural  complement  or  much  needed  corrective  of  the  other. 
Thought  may  not  be  necessarily  speculation,  but  speculation 
is  necessarily  thought.  But  the  objection  is  to  the  use  of  the 
terminology  in  such  manner  as  to  imply  more  systematizing 
than  the  nature  of  the  subject  will  admit.  There  prevails 
entirely  too  much  tendency  to  reduce  every  subject  of  thought 
to  a  science,  and  to  systematize  all  mental  action. 

Fashionable  periodicals  are  filled  with  wise  saws  eulogizing 
the  alleged  German  systems,  from  which  it  appears  that  the 
editors  either  do  not  understand  such  systems,  or  that  they  are 
more  courteous  than  candid  in  their  allusions  to  them.  Imme- 
diately following  a  list  of  Philosophic  Classics  in  the  above 
mentioned  Critical  Exposition,  is  the  following  paragraph, 
politely  called  a  press  notice:  "These  excellent  books,  as  re- 
markable for  ability  as  for  clearness,  will  do  much  to  clear  the 
way  and  make  the  mastery  of  the  German  systems  an  easy 
task." 

It  is  remarkable  that  ability  or  clearness  in  a  book  should  be 
deemed  so  remarkable  as  to  provoke  so  lemarkable  a  remark. 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION.  403 

In  literary  propriety  ability  and  clearness  ought  to  be  reason- 
ably expected  in  all  scientific  books.  No  one  has  any  right  to 
inflict  upon  suffering  humanity  an  additional  book,  especially 
one  assuming  the  dignity  of  a  philosophy,  unless  it  is  charac- 
terized by  ability  and  clearness  as  much  at  least  as  by  learn- 
ing. In  such  case  it  may  not  be  an  infliction,  otherwise  it 
must  be.  Ability  and  clearness  are  qualities  which  readers 
have  a  right  to  expect  in  every  book  thrust  upon  them,  and 
few  others  find  their  way  to  the  modern  library.  It  is  a  humil- 
iating confession  that  such  qualities  are  so  rare  as  to  be  consid- 
ered remarkable  when  detected  or  suspected  in  some  pedantic 
print. 

Another  book  notice  in  the  same  connection  is  as  follows : 
"One  of  the  most  valuable  literary  enterprises  of  the  day.  Each 
volume  is  a  condensed  presentation  made  by  an  author  who  com- 
bines thorough  philosophical  study  with  literary  talent,  and  who 
has  made  a  specialty  of  the  philosopher  whose  work  is  inter- 
preted." This  out-Herods  all  patent  medicine  advertising,  and 
even  the  gay  and  gaudy  show  bill  may  look  well  to  its  laurels. 
Such  paragraphs  come  too  fast  and  furious  to  be  expressions  of 
the  deliberate  judgment  of  anv  editor  having  candidly  exam- 
ined the  publications  puffed.  It  becomes  apparent  that  much 
that  is  so  said  of  them  is  said  upon  the  same  principle  as  that 
with  which  the  inspired  copper  plate  recommends  some  mar- 
vellous spavin  cure,  and  with  about  the  same  measure  of  intel- 
ligence. 

The  latter  of  the  above  quoted  book  notices  contains  a  more 
damaging  confession  than  the  former.  It  is  not  only  of  the 
utility,  but  of  the  necessity  of  interpretation  of  philosophy. 
Upon  the  same  principle  it  might  well  be  followed  by  a  con- 
fession of  the  utility  and  even  necessity  of  explication  of  the  in- 
terpretation. The  theory  seems  to  be  that  the  more  obscurely 
a  science  or  philosophy  is  taught  or  expressed,  the  more  pro- 
found its  wisdom;  the  more  books  that  are  necessary  to  be 
studied  in  order  to  get  at  the  original  doctrine,  the  more  valu- 
able the  literary  enterpyise.  If  literature  is  a  trade,  and  if  money 
instead  of  culture  is  its  object,  there  may  be  some  weight  in 
the  idea.     If  shelf  room  in  the  library  is  to  be  utilized  upon  the 


404  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

same  principle  as  that  upon  which  it  is  utilized  in  the  larder, 
then  there  cannot  be  too  many  editions,  interpretations,  and 
explications  of  Philosophy ;  and  consequently  it  cannot  be  too 
obscure  or  senseless  in  the  original.  Such  seems  to  be  the 
theory  upon  which  it  is  written. 

Looking  into  the  above  named  Critical  Exposition,  and  also 
the  Science  of  Knowledge,  of  which  it  is  said  to  be  a  condensed 
presentation,  various  ideas  occur  to  the  thinking  reader  which 
may  not  disturb  the  equanimity  of  the  casual  reader  at  all. 
One  remembers  that  it  is  said  that  Science  is  itself  classified 
knowledge.  It  this  is  accurate  then  a  Science  of  knowledge  is 
a  classified  knowledge  of  knowledge.  Legitimately,  in  a 
science  classification  should  be  strictly  scientific,  when  of 
course  it  must  be  intelligible.  In  such  case  there  could  be  no 
occasion  for  its  interpretation.  A  dictionary,  or  a  glossary  of 
its  technical  terms,  would  unfold  all  its  mystery.  No  one  ever 
knew  so  much,  and  of  such  an  exalted  type  of  wisdom,  but 
that  he  might  in  some  language  intelligibly  express  himself  to 
his  fellows.  The  fact,  if  it  is  a  fact,  that  an  alleged  philosophy 
must  be  interpreted  in  order  that  the  mastery  of  the  system 
may  be  made  a  comparatively  easy  task,  is  a  convincing  proof 
of  the  worthlessness  of  the  system,  or  its  philosophy,  or  both. 

Substantively  considered,  knowledge  is  what  is  known,  and 
what  is  known  is  knowledge.  It  cannot  consist  in  any  part  of 
what  is  assumed  or  guessed.  The  content  of  knowledge  can- 
not, nor  can  any  part  of  it,  be  otherwise  than  as  known.  A 
science  of  knowledge,  then,  must  be  a  science  of  that  which 
we  know.  While  there  may  be  so  much  legitimate  ela.sticity 
in  the  term,  that  it  may  include  the  means  by  which,  the  man- 
ner in  which,  and  the  evidence  that,  we  know  the  content  of 
our  knowledge;  yet  no  such  consideration  can  mitigate  the 
perplexity  sure  to  arise  in  the  mind,  when  it  attempts  to  con- 
ceive of  the  infinitely  varied  content  of  its  knowledge,  as  re- 
duced to  a  science,  or  as  scientifically  classified.  No  human 
mind  can  do  this.  But  in  this,  its  broadest  supposable  scope, 
a  science  of  knowledge  would  be 'a  classified  knowledge  of 
that  which  is  known  (including  itself)  together  with  the  means 
and  manner  and  proof  of  its  being  known.     This  would  be  a 


SCIENTIFIC    CIRCUMLOCUTION.  405 

perfectly  round  circle,  everywhere  equidistant  from  its  center 
and  from  its  purpose,  and  it  could  never  be  brought  nearer  to 
them.  Regardless  of  the  philosopher's  real  intention,  which 
no  one  ever  knew,  the  manner  in  which  he  has  dealt  with  the 
alleged  science,  and  the  name  by  which  he  has  christened  his 
alleged  philosophy,  commit  him  to  the  idea  that  his  Science 
of  knowledge  applies  as  well  to  the  content  as  to  the  means 
and  manner  and  proof  of  knowledge. 

An  unfortunate  confession  is  covertly,  perhaps  unintention- 
ally, made  in  the  opening  sentence  of  the  work.  The  words 
are  these,  "To  unite  divided  parties  it  is  best  to  proceed  from 
some  point  wherein  they  agree."  A  really  sagacious  philoso- 
pher would  have  known  that  parties  are  never  divided  in 
knowledge.  If  agreement  constitutes  knowledge,  or  if  it  trans- 
forms opinion  into  knowledge,  such  a  sentence  might  be  em- 
inently fitting  at  the  beginning  of  a  discourse  upon  the  alleged 
science  of  knowledge.  Divided  parties  may  be,  and  frequently 
are,  united  in  opinion  and  in  error.  The  inference  from  the  use 
of  the  sentence  quoted  is,  that  the  philosopher  intends  that 
when  the  divided  parties  shall  be  united,  the  science  of  knowl- 
edge will  be  constructed,  and  of  course  understood  by  the  par- 
ties so  uniting. 

But  if  they  agree  upon  one  point  or  upon  several,  and  dis- 
agree upon  others,  there  is  no  more  psychological  warrant  for 
starting  from  a  point  upon  which  they  happen  to  agree,  than 
from  any  other,  for  the  purpose  of  uniting  them  in  a  science  of 
knowledge.  Such  plan  might  be  more  available  for  the  pur- 
pose of  uniting  them  in  opinion.  But  the  alleged  German  Sys- 
tem purports  to  be  a  science  of  knowledge,  and  not  a  science 
of  opinion.  The  philosopher  says,  "A  science  has  sytematic 
form.  All  propositions  m  it  are  connected  in  one  single  funda- 
mental proposition  or  principle,  and  unite  with  it  to  form  a 
whole.  This  is  universally  conceded."  But  universal  conces- 
sion does  not  constitute  knowledge;  nor  can  it  be,  or  give 
validity  to,  any  principle  of  knowledge.  It  is  but  a  stronger 
form  or  type  of  agreement,  from  which  knowledge  may  be  as 
remote  as  from  any  tenet  of  either  of  the  divided  parties  where 
there  is  disaajreement. 


406  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

One  of  the  greatest  difficulties  with  philosophy  arises  from 
considerations  of  utility  and  propriety  relating  to  its  supposed 
starting  point,  its  supposed  fundamental  principle.  Some  seem 
to  have  fancied  that  this  difficulty  was  obviated  by  what  they 
regard  agreement,  general,  or  pehaps  universal.  But  nothing 
can  be  clearer  than  the  untrustworthiness  of  such  agreement. 
Illustrations  are  obvious.  Down  to  a  certain  stage  in  the  devel- 
opment of  the  physical  sciences  it  was  generally,  perhaps  uni- 
versally, agreed  that  the  earth  was  the  center  of  the  universe. 
From  that  point,  upon  which  there  was  such  agreement,  the 
sages  of  antiquity  started  out  in  various  directions  to  unite 
divided  parties,  with  what  success  is  apparent  in  the  thousand 
theories  of  every  debatable  subject  of  human  thought.  The 
wisdom  wasted  in  their  fond  and  fruitless  efforts  is  a  stupen- 
dous monument  to  their  zeal  and  energy,  as  well  as  to  what 
now  appears  to  to  have  been  their  stupidity.  Even  the  very 
Prussian  who  is  reputed  to  have  conceived  the  idea  of  the  uni- 
verse which  Science  is  said  to  have  demonstrated  is  the  correct 
one,  is  said  to  have  given  the  most  absurd  reasons  imaginable 
for  its  then  supposed  validitv.  It  required  a  long  time  for 
actual  physical  demonstration  to  bring  about  or  produce  gen- 
eral agreement  on  that  proposition.  So  it  appears  that  in  Science 
the  universality  with  which  men  may  agree  upon  any  proposi- 
tion is  no  valid  argument  for  its  soundness,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  soundness  of  any  supposed  fundamental  principle.  Speak- 
ing psychologically,  and  with  the  strictness  due  to  all  philo- 
sophical discussion,  there  is  no  such  thing  conceivable  as  a 
fundamental  principle.  The  mind  cannot  get  back  to  anything 
without  being  forced  to  base  it  upon  or  attribute  it  to  some- 
thing still  further  back.  It  cannot  imagine  anything  as  being 
entirely  in  and  of  itself  Even  a  thought,  the  vainest  and  light- 
est thinkable,  and  the  most  original,  is  the  product  of  some- 
thing preceding  it.  The  mind  that  can  conceive  of  and  formu- 
late an  intelligible  idea  of  a  fundamental  principle,  may  be 
expected  to  give  us  a  natural  history,  or  a  histology,  of  the 
formation  and  development  of  the  atom,  the  plastid  base  of 
organic  existence.     If  it  cannot  reach  the  fundamental  in  phys- 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION,  4Q7 

ical  phenomena,  it  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  reach  it  in  men- 
ial phenomena. 

The  philosopher  makes  two  propositions  at  the  base  of  his 
imposing  structure.  First,  that  "Every  science  has  one  funda- 
mental principle,  which  cannot  be  proven  in  it,  but  must  be  cer- 
tain in  advance  of  it;"  and  second,  that  "the  science  of  knowl- 
edge is  itself  a  science;  hence  it  must  also  have  one  fundamental 
principle,  which  cannot  be  proven  in  it,  but  must  be  presuppos- 
ed for  its  very  possibility  as  a  science."  How  anything  which 
is  merely  presupposed  for  the  possibility  of  something  else,  can 
be  in  itself  absolutely  certain,  is  not  apparent.  If  a  science  can- 
not be  otherwise  than  as  based  upon  such  supposititious  funda- 
mental principle,  there  cannot  be  much  psychological  certainty 
of  its  being  at  all.  Yet,  elaborating  these  propositions  he  says, 
"This  fundamental  principle  is  absolutely  certain,  that  is,  it  is 
certain  because  it  is  certain.  You  cannot  inquire  after  its  ground- 
without  contradiction.  *  *  *  Jt  accompanies  all  knowledge, 
is  contained  in  all  knowledge,  and  is  presupposed  by  all  knowl- 
edge." It  is  startling  that  anything  can  be  so  certain  that  an 
inquiry  after  its  ground  would  be  a  contradiction  of  anything 
else  except  its  assumed  absolute  certainty,  or  the  assumed  ab- 
soluteness of  its  assumed  certainty.  But  according  to  the  phil- 
osopher, the  certainty,  or  more  accurately  speaking,  the  valid- 
ity of  the  fundamental  principle  of  the  Science  of  knowledge 
cannot  be  proven,  but  must  be  presupposed  it  there  is  to  be  a 
science  of  knowledge.  In  other  words  the  certainty  which  is 
the  basis  of  all  knowledge  is  assumption.  This  can  be  neither 
objectively  nor  subjectively  valid.  Too  many  assumptions 
have  been  exploded  for  the  discriminating  mind  (to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  skeptical)  to  accept  any  mere  assumption  of  cer- 
tainty as  the  basis  of  any  knowledge. 

What  men  may  know  may  depend  largely  upon  the  nature 
of  their  cognitive  powers;  but  it  depends  no  less  upon  the 
nature  of  the  content  of  that  which  is  to  be  known. 

Man  is  too  small  and  insignificant  a  factor  in  the  domain  of 
substantive  existence  to  assume  to  prescribe  a  limit  to  even  his 
own  investigations,  and  condemn  all  inquiry  after  the  ground 
of  an  assumed  fundamental  principle  of  certainty  as  a  contra- 


408  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

diction.  The  mere  flict  that  the  mind  yearns  for  a  fundamental 
principle  of  certainty,  upon  which  to  rest  its  supposed  knowl- 
edge, if  it  ever  intelligently  does  so,  is  no  more  or  better  argu- 
ment that  there  is  such  fundamental  principle,  than  the  fact 
that  the  mind  shrinks  from  the  idea  of  its  own  annihilation,  is 
that  the  soul  is  immortal.  Nothing  hut  the  existence  of  a  ten- 
dency is  proved  in  either  of  these  cases.  The  universal  and 
irrepressible  tendency  to  speculation,  and  demand  for  the  proof 
of  all  content  of  all  so-called  knowledge,  is  as  strong  an  argu- 
ment for  the  reasonableness  of  such  demand,  and  of  the  proba- 
bility that  it  may  be  supplied,  as  the  universal  yearning  for  a 
fundamental  principle  can  be,  that  there  is  such  principle.  The 
tendency  to  speculate  is  not  to  be  suppressed  or  restrained  by 
the  dictatorial  terms  of  an  alleged  philosophy,  which  merely 
assumes  the  existence  of  its  fundamental  principle  of  certainty, 
and  declares  all  inquiry  after  its  ground  a  contradiction.  The 
universal  demand  for  the  proof  or  ground  of  the  certainty  of 
an  assumed  fundamental  principle  of  knowledge,  or  of  a  science, 
is  not  to  be  silenced  by  merely  emphasizing  the  assumption. 
No  inquiry  was  ever  more  natural,  or  indeed  more  reasonable, 
than  that  of  the  child,  who,  on  being  told  that  God  made 
everything,  then  inquired  who  made  God. 

Proceeding  to  the  establishment  of  the  "highest  fundament- 
al principle"  of  the  science  of  knowledge,  the  philosopher 
resorts  to  a  process  which  he  calls  abstracting  reflection,  and 
says  that  therein,  "we  must  start  from  some  proposition  which 
everyone  will  admit  without  dispute."  But  I  have  shown  the 
futility  of  this  in  referring  to  the  fallacy  that  prevailed  in  physi- 
cal philosophy  while  mankind  were  agreed  in  the  error  which 
was  exploded  by  the  assumption  and  speculation  of  Copernicus. 
That  which  every  one  will  admit  without  dispute  may  be  as  it 
is  admitted  to  be,  but  such  admission  alone,  however  univer- 
sal, is  no  evidence  that  it  is  so.  In  illustration  however  the 
philosopher  proceeds  to  say,  "Any  fact  of  empirical  conscious- 
ness, admitted  as  such  valid  proposition,  is  taken  hold  of,  and 
from  it  we  separate  one  of  its  empirical  determinations  after  the 
other,  until  onlv  that  remains,  which  can  be  no  longer  sepa- 
rated and  abstracted  from.     As  such  a  proposition   we   take 


I 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION.  409 

this  one;  A  is  A.  Every  one  admits  this  proposition,  and 
without  the  least  hesitation.  It  is  recognized  by  all  as  com- 
pletely certain  and  evident.  If  any  one  should  ask  a  proof  of 
its  certainty,  no  one  would  enter  upon  such  proof,  but  would 
say:  This  proposition  is  absolutely  (that  is,  without  any 
further  ground)  certain;  and  by  saying  this  would  ascribe  to 
himself  the  power  of  absolutely  positing  something." 

If  any  other  than  empirical  consciousness  were  possible,  there 
might  be  some  occasion  for  the  particularity  with  which  the 
philosopher  specifies  the  empirical  consciousness;  and  by  such 
particularity  he  plainly  implies  that  there  is  some  other  kind. 
But  reflection  forces  the  recognition  of  the  supreme  absurdity 
of  supposing  any  other  than  empirical  consciousness.  If  there 
can  be  a  consciousness  without  some  measure  of  sensation,  or 
some  sort  of  experience,  it  would  be  indeed  interesting  to  know 
what  kind  it  is,  how  it  can  arise,  and  how  we  became  cogniz- 
ant of  it.  The  selection  of  the  admitted  proposition  from  which 
it  is  proposed  to  "separate  one  of  its  empirical  determinations 
after  the  other, "  is  unfortunate.  From  the  alleged  proposition 
A  is  A,  nothing  whatever  can  be  separated  and  abstracted; 
certainly  no  empirical  determination,  because  it  contains  none. 
While  it  may  be  "recognized  by  all  as  completely  certain  and 
evident,"  it  is  not  a  proposition.  One  of  the  greatest  absurdi- 
ties Superstition  ever  attributed  to  Deity  is  the  senseless  excla- 
mation, "I  am  that  I  am,"  and  if  the  Lord  exclaimed  it  He  said 
absolutely  nothing.  Such  a  combination  of  words  has  no 
meaning  whatever.  All  the  recognition  it  can  have  as  com- 
pletely certain  and  evident  can  give  it  no  validity,  for  it  imports 
nothing  which  can  be  either  certain  or  uncertain. 

Apart  from  psycholoo^y  metaphysics  has  no  meaning.  All 
propositions  are  necessarily  addressed  to  the  human  mind. 
They  are  the  vehicles  or  media  by  which,  or  perhaps  more  ac- 
curately speaking,  the  form  in  which  intelligence  of  some  kind 
and  in  some  measure  is  conveyed  to  the  mind.  To  say  that 
man  is,  imports  the  being  of  a  creature  called  man.  To  say 
that  man  is  an  animal,  imports  the  being  of  a  creature  called 
man,  and  that  he  may  also  be  called  animal.  To  say  that  man 
is  an  animal  that  laughs,  imports  the  being  of  a  creature  called 


410  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

man,  and  that  he  may  also  be  called  animal,  and  that  there  are 
other  creatures  called  animals  that  do  not  laugh,  and  disting- 
uishes him  from  them.  Each  of  these  is  a  proposition  by 
which  intelligence  is  communicated  from  one  mind  to  another, 
hi  each  of  them  something  is  affirmed  or  predicated  of  the  sub- 
ject man.  But  to  say  that  man  is  nfan,  is  to  begin  and  end 
with  man,  without  having  affirmed  or  predicated  anything 
of  him.  A  proposition  must  have  a  subject  and  predicate,  and 
they  must  be  connected  by  means  of  a  copula.  Less  than  this 
cannot  be  a  proposition.  By  means  of  less  than  this  no  idea 
can  be  communicated  from  one  mind  to  another.  In  some  in- 
stances one  of  the  three  parts  may  not  be  expressed,  but  in 
such  case  it  must  be  implied.  The  subject  cannot  be  affirmed 
or  predicated  of  itself  or  of  the  predicate.  But  the  predicate, 
whatever  it  may  be,  must  be  affirmed  or  predicated  of  the  sub- 
ject, if  the  last  term  (man  or  A)  in  the  so-called  proposition^ — 
man  is  man  or  A  is  A — has  the  same  meaning  as  the  first  term 
(man  or  A),  if  it  means  the  same  thing  on  one  side  of  the  copula 
(is)  as  upon  the  other  side  of  it,  it  is  necessarily  subject  in  both 
places,  and  there  is  no  predicate,  and  hence  no  meaning  in  the 
so-called  proposition.  In  order  to  be  a  predicate,  the  term 
must  mean  something  different  on  one  side,  from  what  it 
means  on  the  other  side  of  the  copula.  And  then,  according 
to  the  philosopher,  the  assumed  absolute  certainty  of  the  pro- 
position is  gone — it  may  be  disputed.  So  it  is  manifest  that 
the  alleged  proposition — A  is  A,  not  only  is  not  a  proposition 
that  is  absolutely  certain,  but  that  it  is  not  a  proposition  at  all. 
It  is  an  idle  exclamation  without  meaning.  To  have  any  psych- 
ological validity  as  a  proposition,  the  combination  of  words 
must  purport  something  which,  if  known  to  be  the  truth, 
would  add  to  the  actual  knowledge  had  without  their  combin- 
ation. If  such  purport  is  not  known  to  be  the  truth,  it  will 
not  add  to  the  actual  knowledge,  but  if  believed  it  must  add  to 
the  volume  of  the  content  of  opinion,  or  the  combination  can- 
not be  a  proposition.  Any  combination  of  words  without  a 
purport  which,  in  such  circumstances  would  have  such  effect, 
is  not  a  proposition,  it  expresses  no  idea.  In  a  combination  of 
words  in  which  it  is  said  that  man  is  man,  or  that  A  is  A,  there 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION.  _  4II 

is  absolutely  nothing  which  can  be  supposed  to  be  so  known 
to  be  the  truth  as  to  add  to  the  content  of  the  knowledge  had 
without  it;  or  which  if  believed  to  be  the  truth,  can  add  to  the 
content  of  opinion!  Science  is  sadly  scant  of  data  when  it  is 
forced  to  resort  to  such  twaddle  in  exemplifying  or  applying 
its  alleged  fundamental  principle,  if  the  alleged  fundamental 
principle  of  the  science  of  knowledge  depends  for  its  validity 
upon  the  alleged  absolute  certainty  of  such  so-called  proposi- 
tions as  that  A  is  A,  it  has  no  validity,  or  rather  there  is  no 
such  fundamental  principle. 

In  further  illustration  of  the  properties  or  peculiarities  of  the 
so-called  proposition,  the  Philosopher  says,  "In  insisting  on  the 
in  itself  certainty  of  the  above  proposition,  you  posit  //o/that  A 
is.  The  proposition  A  is  A  is  by  no  means  equivalent  to  A  is. 
(Being  when  posited  without  a  predicate  is  something  quite 
different  from  being  when  posited  with  a  predicate. )  Let  us 
suppose  A  to  signify  a  space  inclosed  within  two  straight  lines, 
then  the  proposition  A  is  A  would  still  be  correct;  although 
the  proposition  A  is  would  be  f^ilse,  since  such  a  space  would 
be  impossible.  But  you  posit  by  that  proposition  :  //  A  is  then 
A  is.  The  question  whether  A  is  at  all  or  not  does  not  occur 
in  it.  The  content  of  the  proposition  is  not  regarded  at  all — 
merely  its  tbrm.  The  question  is  not  whereof  you  know,  but 
what  you  know  of  any  given  subject.  The  only  thing  posited, 
therefore,  by  that  proposition  is  the  absolutely  necessary  con- 
nection between  the  two  A's." 

This  is  a  tissue  of  contradiction  and  absurdity.  If  A  is  A, 
then  A  is,  for  it  cannot  be  A  without  being.  If  A  is  A,  then 
there  is  but  one  A  posited,  and  it  is  predicated  of  itself,  which 
is  absurd.  If  A  is  A,  it  is  necessarily  one  and  the  same  A,  and 
there  cannot  be  two  A's  for  there  to  be  any  absolutely  neces- 
sary connection  between,  and  the  supposition  of  any  connection 
between  //  is  absurd.  Being  when  posited  without  a  predicate 
may  be  something  quite  different  from  being  when  posited  with 
a  predicate.  But  when  being  is  posited  at  all  it  cannot  have  a 
predicate  by  being  posited  of  itself.  The  proposal  to  let  A  sig- 
nify a  space  enclosed  within  two  straight  lines  is  admittedly 
senseless,  yet  it  is  in  keeping  with  the  residue  of  the  argument. 


412  .  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

It  would  be  as  reasonable  and  profitable  to  attempt  to  demon- 
strate that  there  could  be  such  space  as  to  attempt  to  demon- 
strate that  A  is  A,  unless  in  the  tirst  place  A  is.  A  cannot  be 
A,  nor  can  it  be  anything,  nor  can  it  be  at  all,  without  it  is. 
To  say  that  //  A  is,  then  A  is,  is  too  silly  to  be  said  in  any  phi- 
losophy. It  is  to  say  actually  nothing,  and  make  even  that 
contingent.  If  we  say  air  is  air,  we  have  not  proceeded  a  step. 
We  are  exactly  where  we  started,  or  rather,  we  have  not 
started.  We  have  proposed  nothing.  We  have  not  stated  a 
proposition.  If  we  have  posited  air,  we  certainly  have  not 
posited  it  with  a  predicate,  for  we  have  named  or  mentioned 
one  and  the  same  air  only.  Mentioning  it  twice,  once  on  each 
side  of  a  supposed  copula  (which  reallv  is  no  copula  because  it 
connects  nothing  with  air)  does  not  make  it  two  airs.  Hence 
it  is  necessarily  subject  on  both  sides  of  the  supposed  copula, 
and  the  so-called  proposition  contains  no  predicate,  and  is  not 
a  proposition.  The  idea  of  absolutely  necessary  connection  in 
such  case  is  as  absurd  as  the  idea  of  a  space  enclosed  by  two 
straight  lines. 

To  say  that  "the  question  is  not  whereof  you  know,  but 
what  you  know  of  any  given  subject,"  is,  if  possible,  still  more 
absurd.  There  can  be  no  zvliat  known  without  the  icliereof  of 
which  it  is  known.  Without  the  whereof  known,  one  what 
could  not  be  distinguished  from  another,  and  it  is  the  whereof 
that  determines  the  what.  Without  the  whereof  known,  no 
what  can  have  any  meaning.  One  cannot  know  anything 
unless  he  knows  what  it  is  he  knows:  and  he  cannot  know 
what  it  is  he  knows,  unless  he  knows  whereof  he  knows  it. 
But  by  such  processes  as  the  above  quoted  illustration  and  the 
deductioiis  he  makes  from  it,  the  Philosopher  traces  out  the 
alleged  original  deed  act,  which  he  places  at  the  head  of  his 
alleged  science  of  knowledge,  as  its  highest  fundamental  prin- 
ciple, and  states  it  thus — The  Ego  posits  originally  its  own 
being.  He  savs  the  Ego  is  necessarily  identity  of  subject  and 
object.  He  has  taken  a  very  circuitous  route  to  the  proposi- 
tion that  man  is  conscious  of  himself. 

The  foregoing  is,  I  believe,  a  fair  statement  of  the  ground- 
work of  one  of  the  philosophies  in  one  of  the  famous  German 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION.  4I3 

Systems;  one  which  has  set  the  world  all  agog  with  the  depth- 
of  its  metaphysical  wisdom,  and  the  closeness  of  its  alleged 
reasoning.  It  has  attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention,  and  occa- 
sioned endless  and  in  many  instances  aimless  speculation.  It 
has  called  forth  a  great  deal  of  senseless  commendation,  and 
has  been  learnedly  interpreted  by  scholars,  who,  like  the  phi- 
losopher they  interpret,  are  finally  forced  to  found  all  they  say 
for  it  on  an  unintelligible  assumption,  back  of  which  there  is 
no  proof,  and  which,  as  propounded  in  the  alleged  philosophy, 
cannot  have  any  meaning  whatever.  In  the  few  foregoing 
observations  I  think  it  is  shown  that  the  system  is  built  upon  a 
bubble,  and  that  it  cannot  have  much  reliable  solidity  itself 

That  the  Ego  posits  itself  originally,  and  that  it  limits  and 
is  limited  by  the  non-Ego,  may  mean  more  than  the  empty 
proposition — I  am  I — or  than  A  is  A;  but  the  human  mind 
must  be  worked  over  before  it  can  extract  much  intelligence 
from  the  alleged  propositions  in  which  the  subject  is  placed  on 
each  side  of  the  copula,  and  the  predicate  is  conspicuous  only 
by  its  absence. 

If  an  examination  of  the  fundamental  principle  of  an  alleged 
philosophy  discloses  the  fact  that  it  is  based  in  palpable  error 
and  absurdity,  it  can  scarcely  be  worth  while  to  trace  the 
pedantic  elaboration  of  its  deductions  therefrom  through  all  the 
ramifications  they  may  make. 

That  the  Ego  determines  itself,  and  is  in  so  far  active,  involves 
the  further  proposition  that  it  is  determined  (by  itself)  and  is  in 
so  far  passive,  cannot  signify  moi'e  than  that  man  is  conscious 
of  himself,  as  limited  by  that  which  is  not  himself  .But  upon 
mature  reflection  the  proposition  of  self-consciousness  appears 
to  be  a  superfluous,  if  not  an  illegitimate  one.  It  is  sufficiently 
accurate  to  say  that  man  is  conscious  of  this  or  that  particular 
thing.  It  may  be  appropriately  said  man  is  conscious.  But 
he  cannot  be  conscious  of  anything  else  than  himself,  without 
at  the  same  time  being  self-conscious.  If  he  is  conscious  at  all 
he  must  be  self-conscious.  And  as  he  cannot  be  conscious  at 
all  without  being  conscious  of  something  external  to  him,  as 
he  cannot  possibly  think  himself  entirely  out  of  space  and  time 
and  their  infinite  relations,    there   is  no   such  thing,    strictly 


414  ETHICS  OF   LITERATURE. 

speaking,  as  self-consciousness.  Consciousness  necessarily 
involves  consciousness  of  self  ^5  conscious,  and  consciousness 
of  self  in  some  relation  to  something  external  to  self  Even 
introspection  cannot  be  carried  on  a  moment  without  both  of 
these. 

Another  of  the  philosopher's  propositions  may  be  examined 
with  perhaps  some  profit,  it  is,  "An  independent  activity  de- 
termines a  reciprocal  activity  and  passivity."  He  says  the 
formal  ground  of  reciprocity  is  to  be  determined  by  an  indepen- 
dent activity.  While  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that  there 
is  no  validity,  psychologically  speaking,  in  the  proposi- 
tion, I  am  prepared  to  show  that  what  he  calls  the  proof 
if  it  is  invalid  both  as  proof,  and  as  propositions  themselves. 
His  proof  is  given  in  the  form  of  an  illustration.  He  says, 
"The  magnet  attracts  iron;  iron  is  attracted  by  the  mag- 
net. These  are  two  interchangeable  propositions;  that 
is,  through  the  one  the  other  is  posited.  This  is  a  presup- 
posed fact,  presupposed  as  grounded;  hence,  if  you  look  to 
the  content  of  this  reciprocal  relation  you  do  not  ask  W'7?o 
posits  the  one  proposition  through  the  other,  and  how  does 
this  positing  occur  f  You  assume  the  reciprocity  as  Jiaviug 
ing  occurred  if  you  look  to  the  content  of  the  reciprocity;  and 
you  only  ask,  why  are  these  tivo  propositions  contained  among 
the  sphere  of  propositions,  which  can  be  thus  posited  the  one 
through  the  other  }  There  must  be  something  in  both  which 
makes  it  possible  to  interchange  them.  Hence  you  look  up 
this,  their  material  content,  wh'ich  makes  them  intercJiangeable. 
If,  however,  you  look  to  the /or;//  of  the  reciprocity,  if  you  re- 
flect on  the  occurring  of  the  interchange,  and  hence  abstract 
from  the  propositions  which  are  interchanged,  then  the  ques- 
tion no  longer  is,  with  what  right  are  tJiese  propositions  inter- 
changed "^  but  simply,  how  is  interchange  effected  at  all  }  And 
then  it  is  discovered  that  there  must  be  an  intelligent  being 
outside  the  iron  and  magnet,  which  observing  both  and  unit- 
ing both  in  its  consciousness,  is  compelled  to  give  to  one  the 
opposite  predicate  of  the  other;  (to  the  one  the  predicate  of 
attracting,  to  the  other  the  predicate  of  being  attracted).  The 
first  mode  gives  simply  a  reflection  upon  a  phenomenon;  the 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION.  415 

second  mode  a  reflection  upon  that  reflection;  the  reflection  of 
the  Philosopher  upon  the  mode  of  observation." 

It  is  not  apparent  how  this  proves  that  an  independent 
activity  determines  a  reciprocal  activity  and  passivity.  To  be 
reciprocal,  these  ought  mutually  to  determine  each  other.  The 
alleged  two  propositions  are  but  one  proposition.  They  are 
exactly  equal,  and,  with  the  Philosopher  (generally)  equality  is 
identity.  To  say  that  the  magnet  attracts  iron  is  not  only 
equivalent  to  saying  the  iron  is  attracted  by  the  magnet,  it  h 
saying  the  iron  is  attracted  by  the  magnet.  They  are  only 
slightly  different  forms  of  one  proposition.  One  is  not  posited 
through  the  other,  for  there  is  but  one  to  be  posited  at  all,  and 
if  it  were  put  in  another  form,  or  in  many  other  forms,  it  would 
still  be  but  one  proposition.  The  proposition  that  the  magnet 
attracts  iron  contains  or  posits  all  the  activity  and  passivity 
contained  or  posited  in  the  two  alleged  propositions.  The 
passivity  of  the  iron  is  no  more  expressly  posited  in  the  one 
form  of  this  proposition  than  in  the  other  form  of  it.  To  say 
that  iron  is  attracted  by  the  magnet,  posits  the  activity  of  the 
magnet  as  expressly  as  the  passivity  of  the  iron.  The  recipro- 
cal activity  and  passivity  are  as  well  and  as  expressly  posited 
in  the  one  form  of  this  proposition  as  in  the  other,  or  in  both 
forms  of  it.  They  are  not  determined  by  any  independent 
activity,  but  by  each  other;  although  "an  intelligent  being 
outside  the  iron  and  magnet"  observes  both  and  unites  both  in 
its  consciousness  and  is  compelled  to  give  to  one  the  predicate 
of  attracting,  and  to  the  other  the  predicate  of  being  attracted. 
He  does  not  determine  anything  for  them  or  either  of  them,  but 
for  himself  he  may  discern  their  reciprocal  activity  and  passiv- 
ity, as  they  mutually  determine  (limit)  them  of  and  for  them- 
selves. Reciprocity  cannot  be  determined  by  an  agency  influ- 
ence or  power  not  reciprocating.  In  the  case  supposed  the 
magnet  actively  exerts  an  influence  over  the  iron ;  the  iron 
passively  yields  to  this  influence.  The  reciprocity  of  the  activ- 
ity and  passivity  is  determined  by  them;  and  it  may  be  detected 
by  the  independent  activity,  but  certainly  not  determined  by  it. 

The  content  of  the  reciprocity  is,  that  the  magnet  actively 
attracts,  and  the  iron  passively  is  attracted.     When   you   look 


4l6  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

to  this  content  you  do  not  assume  the  reciprocity  as  having 
occurred  or  as  occurring.  You  clearly  discern  and  knoiv  it. 
You  do  not  ask  why  these  two  propositions  are  contained 
among  the  sphere  of  propositions  which  can  he  posited  the 
one  through  the  other,  You  see  the  reciprocal  activity  and 
passivity  posited  in  the  one  proposition,  no  matter  which  of  the 
two  forms  it  may  have. 

The  form  of  the  reciprocity  (for  the  mind)  is  the  idea  or  rep- 
resentation of  the  activity  and  passivity  mutually  determining 
each  other,  and  the  attraction  resulting  therefrom.  When  you 
look  to  this  form  you  do  not  ask  how  is  interchange  of  these 
propositions  effected.  All  that  you  have  observed  or  can  dis- 
cern of  reciprocity  of  activity  and  passivity,  clearly  appears  to 
you  in  the  one  proposition,  no  matter  which  of  the  two  forms 
it  may  have.     You  see  no  two  propositions  to  be  interchanged. 

And  you  cannot  imagine  any  independent  activity  as  de- 
termining the  reciprocal  activity  and  passivity  so  manifest. 
Their  reciprocity,  if  properly  speaking  there  is  such  a  thing,  is 
determined  by  them.  An  outside  agency,  influence,  or  power, 
might  limit  or  determine  the  independent,  or  perhaps  more  ac- 
curately speaking,  the  individual  action  and  inaction  of  each. 
But  if  there  is  reciprocity  of  activity  and  passivity  it  is  due  to 
their  mutual  relations  to  each  other.  If  the  iron  passively  yields 
to  the  active  attraction  of  the  magnet,  and  if  this  is  reciprocity 
of  activity  and  passivity,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  an  inde- 
pendent activity  can  do  more  than  merely  discern  the  fact. 
The  reciprocity  would  seem  to  be  determined  by  the  activity 
and  passivity,  whose  mutual  relations  to  and  effect  upon  each 
other  produce  it.  This  seems  to  be  the  necessary  result  of  the 
the  reflection  upon  the  phenomenon;  and  of  the  "reflection 
upon  that  reflection;  the  reflection  of  the  philosopher  upon  the 
mode  of  observation." 

In  the  Critical  Exposition  of  Fichte's  alleged  Science  of 
knowledge,  there  are  some  propositions  made  in  apparent  ser- 
iousness, which  as  the  tenets  of  an  alleged  philosophy  are  in- 
deed remarkable.  After  making  an  illustration  of  conscious- 
ness worthy  the  author  of  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  the  Critical  Ex- 
positor says,  "I  repeat  that  a  single  moment  of  consciousness 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION.  417 

is  all  that  is  directly  given.  We  speak  of  the  past.  We  do 
this  in  the  confidence  that  our  memory  really  represents  what 
has  occurred.  This  age  professes  to  take  nothing  without  ver- 
ification. All  verification  depends  upon  the  validity  of  mem- 
ory. I  do  not  mean  merely  upon  the  accuracy  of  memory,  so 
far  as  details  are  concerned,  but  on  the  validity  of  memory  as 
representing  a  real  past  in  the  most  general  sense  of  the  word. 
Who  can  verify  this  assumption  ?  Who  has  ever  gone  back 
to  see  whether  there  be  or  be  not  a  past  ?  I  am  not  question- 
ing the  fact;  I  merely  wish  to  make  it  clear  that  memory  itself 
is  purely  of  the  mind,  and  that  its  testimony  is  accepted  wholly 
on  trust." 

This  he  attempts  to  verify  by  illustrations  from  dreams, 
delusions,  and  illusions.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  memory 
itself  purely  of  the  mind.  Memory  is  either  a  retained  and 
continued  thought;  or  it  is  a  revived  and  reawakened 
thought  which  may  have  lain  dormant  for  a  time.  Memory  is 
thought  in  one  of  these  states.  There  never  was  a  thought 
without  an  object  which  in  some  manner  affected  the  thinking 
mind.  The  mind  has  the  faculty  of  remembering,  but  there 
can  be  no  memory  unless  something  is  remembered,  and  hence 
the  expression — memory  itself  is  purely  of  the  mind — is  an 
absurdity.  Even  the  memory  of  some  prior  thought  or  state  of 
mind  is  not  purely  of  the  mind,  because  the  prior  thought  or 
state  of  mind  had  necessarily  some  relation  to  something 
external  to  the  mind,  or  it  could  not  have  been  a  thought  or 
state  of  mind.  What  is  meant  by  a  moment  of  consciousness 
directly  given  is  very  problematical,  but  no  one  can  imagine 
consciousness  existing  for  a  time  so  brief  that  it  may  not  be 
subdivided  into  shorter  periods.  If  no  one  has  ever  gone  back 
to  see  if  there  be  or  be  not  a  past,  a  great  many  have  come  for- 
ward out  of  a  past  into  a  present,  and  have  a  consciousness  of 
a  present  which  they  certainly  cannot  know  to  be  a  present 
otherwise  than  as  distinguished  from  a  past.  If  this  conscious- 
ness of  the  present  is  the  moment  of  consciousness  which*  is 
directly  given  to  us,  there  must  have  been  a  consciousness  of 
the  past  also  directly  given  to  us,  because  the  present  could  not 
be  present  but  for  the  past.     Even  if  some  one  had  '  'ever  gone 


4l8  ETHICS  OF   LITERATURE. 

back  to  see  whether  there  be  or  be  not  a  past,"  his  trip  would 
be  a  fool's  errand  unless  there  was  a  trustworthy  memory  by 
means  of  which,  in  the  present  moment  of  consciousness 
which,  forsooth,  is  directly  given,  he  could  remember  and 
know  that  he  had  so  gone  back  and  found  a  past.  Without  a 
past  to  go  back  to,  it  is  silly  to  speak  of  one's  going  back  to  see 
anything.  That  the  consciousness  of  the  past  is  retained,  or 
restored  from  time  to  time  by  the  memory,  or  in  the  memory, 
does  not  militate  against  its  having  been,  or  now  being,  directly 
given.  The  moment  of  consciousness  which  is  directly  given 
is  past  in  a  moment  more,  and  if  memory  is  sometimes  tricked 
or  deceived  by  delusion,  it  still  has  some  validity  for  verifica- 
tion, it  may  impair  its  validity  so  as  to  render  it  less  than 
absolutely  perfect  as  a  verifier  of  the  history  of  the  past,  and 
for  this  reason  its  testimony  is  not  accepted  wholly  on  trust. 
We  knozv  that  the  present  moment — the  moment  of  conscious- 
ness directly  given — is  consciousness  of  the  past  carried  into 
the  next  moment  by  or  in  the  memory.  We  know  it  is 
past  before  we  fully  realize  it  is  present,  and  that  it  is 
connected  with  the  succeeding  moment's  consciousness  in 
the  fict  that  it  is  a  continuing  consciousness.  It  may  be  sus- 
pended in  sleep,  and  it  may  be  distorted  in  dream  and  delusion, 
but  it  is  continued  and  restored  from  time  to  time  by  or  in  the 
memory.  To  say  that  "so  far  as  we  are  concerned  the  effect 
would  be  the  same  if  there  were  no  past,  if  only  there  remained 
the  mental  condition  that  we  regard  as  representing  the  past" 
is  too  silly  to  be  said  in  anything  assuming  philosophic  airs. 
If  the  supposition  were  otherwise  valid,  the  word  remain  would 
vitiate  it.  Nothing  can  be  supposed  to  remain  at  all  without 
enduring,  or  being  for  or  during  some  time.  No  time,  and  no 
portion  of  time,  can  be  conceived  of  as  so  brief  as  that  some 
part  of  it  is  not  necessarily  past  time  with  relation  to  other  parts 
of  it.  "The  mental  condition  that  we  regard  as  representing 
the  past,"  could  not  possibly  be  conceived  of  as  having  any 
meaning  for  us,  without  a  consciousness  directly  given  us  of  a 
real  past.  We  cannot  even  in  the  weirdest  and  wildest  imag- 
ination, formulate  a  figure  of  anything  or  of  nothing,  without 
at  some  point  and  in  some  measure  likening  it  to  something 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION.  4I9 

actual.  If  memory  has  no  validity  for  verification  of  the  past, 
no  tv/o  successive  thoughts  can  be  intelligently  connected  and 
knowledge  is  absolutely  impossible;  indeed,  the  thought  of  it 
is  utterly  incomprehensible. 

Neither  is  memory  itself  purely  of  the  mind.  It  cannot  pos- 
sibly be  conceived  of  without  relation  to  the  content  of  the 
knowledge  retained  or  recalled  by  or  in  it.  Without  something 
remembered  there  is  no  memory.  The  validity  of  memory  is 
further  demonstrated  in  the  impossibility  of  forgetting  many 
things  which  we  would  gladly  consign  to  oblivion.  To  say 
that  "people  often  are  sure  they  remember  something  that 
never  occurred, — that  their  mental  condition  is  precisely  what 
it  would  be  if  the  event  had  occurred,"  is  only  equivalent  to 
saying  that  the  mental  condition  is  the  same  in  imagination  as 
in  knowledge.  When  one  thinks  he  is  sure  he  remembers 
something  that  never  occurred,  he  simply  imagines  the  thing 
as  having  occurred,  and  there  is  no  memory  in  or  about  the 
mental  act  or  .condition;  beyond  that  necessary  in  formulat- 
ing the  conception.  No  one  ever  was  sure  he  remembered 
anything  which  never  occurred,  though  many  have  thought 
they  were — have  imagined  that  the  thing  had  occurred — and 
imagined  also  that  they  remembered  it.  But  no  act  of  mind, 
not  even  this  empty  imagination  itself,  is  possible  without 
memory.  In  imagination  the  imaginary  content  of  the  vagary 
is  co-ordinated  according  to,  or  by,  a  mental  process  which 
memory  retains  or  recalls  from  the  more  substantial  mental 
transactions.  A  philosophy  which  supposes  or  attempts  to 
suppose  the  invalidity  of  memory  as  representing  a  real  past, 
supposes  or  attempts  to  suppose  the  annihilation  of  the  very 
thought  which  alone  renders  philosophy  itself  possible. 

In  the  two  books  under  immediate  consideration,  Fichte's 
Science  of  Knov/ledge  and  Everett's  Critical  Exposition,  there  is 
a  great  deal  of  what  is  popularly  regarded  deep  learning.  There 
is  also  a  great  deal  of  that  from  which  the  popular  mind  shrinks 
in  awe,  as  from  a  wisdom  above  its  capacity  to  grasp.  If,  as 
I  think  is  now  demonstrated,  the  cardinal  doctrine  of  both, 
their  alleged  fundamental  principle,  is  utterly  senseless,  they 
cannot  be  very  trustworthy  as  a  means  or  medium  of  mental 


420  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

culture.  All  that  may  possibly  be  said  of  the  Ego  and  the  non- 
Ego,  the  I,  the  Me  and  the  Not-Me,  their  positings  and  being 
posited,  their  limits,  limitings,  and  limitations,  and  their  rela- 
tions, temporal,  spatial,  quantitative,  and  qualitative,  though 
ever  so  well  said  as  abstract  propositions,  or  as  propositions  in 
and  of  themselves;  yet,  as  localized  in  and  as  part  of  an  alleged 
philosophical  system  which  is  based  upon  a  palpable  absurdity, 
is  without  force,  if  not  without  meaning. 

The  whole  is  an  effort  ^o  harness  Reason  in  the  service  of 
Religion.  It  is  an  effort  at  scientific  Apologetics.  All  religion, 
as  religion,  is  based  upon  a  belief  in  immortality.  It  is  a  mat- 
ter of  faith,  pure  and  simple.  That  which  sustains  the  bereav- 
ed barbarian  wife  in  immolating  herself  on  the  pyre  other 
deceased  husband  is  as  valid  for  her,  as  that  which  prompts 
the  European  or  American  mother  to  present  her  offspring  at 
the  baptismal  font  is  for  her.  There  is  no  reason  in  any  of 
them.  Some  enthusiasts  have  fancied  that  the  reasons  for 
their  faith,  (as  if  there  could  be  a  reason  for  it)  were  being  un- 
dermined by  or  in  the  deductions  of  an  alleged  skepticism. 
They  have  then  assumed  a  fundamental  principle  of  knowledge, 
generally,  or  perhaps  universally  conceded  or  agreed  to.  and 
have  learnedly  and  elaborately  reasoned  around  in  a  labyrinth 
of  incongruity,  fallacy,  and  assumption,  and  have  sometimes 
reached  an  assumed  certainty  of  immortality,  based  upon  the 
discovery  that  while  the  1  is  limited,  it  is  forever  pushing  the 
limit  into  infinity.  Great  volumes  of  learned  jargon  are  written 
to  express  the  idea,  that  because  the  mind  is  forever  soaring 
higher,  and  universally  shrinks  from  the  thought  of  its  own 
annihilation,  the  Soul  must  be  immortal. 

The  Critical  Expositor  says,  "In  this  fact,  Fichte  finds,  as 
he  repeatedly  insists  the  basis  of  faith  in  immortality.  The  I 
has  this  impulse  to  infinitude.  It  is  conscious  of  an  infinite 
activity.  The  very  term,  conscious  of  infinite  activity,  as  we 
have  seen,  involves  also  the  consciousness  of  finiteness.  Thus 
is  the  nature  of  the  soul  double.  *  *  *  The  limit  has  only 
been  pushed  to  a  little  greater  distance,  but  it  is  there,  as  real 
and  as  solid  as  at  the  first.  Again  and  again  must  this  process 
be  repeated  with  the  same  result.     This  is  the  very  nature  of 


SCIENTIFIC   CIRCUMLOCUTION.  421 

the  soul.  It  must  continue  the  process  until  the  end  be 
reached.  But  not  till  eternity  be  exhausted  would  it  be  possi- 
ble to  reach  the  farthest  limit  of  infmity.  The  process  is  end- 
less; endlessness  of  time  must  therefore  be  postulated.  The 
destiny  of  the  soul  is  always  accomplishing  itself,  and  is,  there- 
fore, never  accomplished.  The  I  thus  carries  with  itself  the 
pledge  of  its  own  immortality." 

1  do  not  see  how  an  expression  could  be  more  unphilo- 
sophical  than  some  of  these.  If  the  I  is  conscious  of  an  infinite 
activity,  it  is  conscious  of  that  which  extends  out  into  space 
beyond  the  wildest  flight  of  any  human  imagination,  or  down 
into  time  beyond  the  possibility  of  any  human  prediction.  If 
the  1  is  limited  by  anything  external  to  itself,  it  is  powerless  to 
push  this  again  infinitely  out  into  infinity,  and  if  it  must  infin- 
itely continue  the  process,  it  is  not  limited  at  all  Nothing 
could  be  more  absurd  than  the  idea  of  exhausting  eternity  and 
reaching  the  flirthest  limit  of  infinity.  The  terms  cancel  each 
other  and  the  words  as  combined  have  no  meaning.  An  un- 
accomplished destiny  (that  is,  as  a  goal)  cannot  be  thought. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  scientific  circumlocution  in  reaching  a 
result  which  could  have  been  more  scientifically  and  simply 
stated  in  the  declaration  that,  because  the  I  (soul  or  mind) 
shrinks  from  the  thought  of  its  own  annihilation,  and  continu- 
ally aspires,  it  is  probably  immortal.  And  all  that  has  been  so 
learnedly,  so  obscurely,  so  confusedly  said ;  and  all  that  has 
been  so  absurdly  assumed,  has  not  raised  the  postulated  im- 
mortality of  the  soul  above  probability.  The  alleged  Science 
of  knowledge  is  in  truth  a  science  of  guess-work  and  ground- 
less assumption.  The  Critical  Exposition  which  was  to  make 
the  mastery  of  the  System  an  easy  task,  only  gives  its  incongru- 
ities and  absurdities  more  prominence. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

SCIENTIFIC  ACCOUNTABILITY. 
Motives  mean  Nothing  witliout  Tlieir  Sanctions,  and  Sanctions  are  Based  in 
Personal  Interest — Man  can  be  Operated  on  Only  by  Hope  and  Fear,  like 
the  Brute;  the  Difference  is  merely  in  Degree — Moral  Action  Implies  Per- 
sonal Accountability — Reason  Incompatible  with  Morality  and  Religion — 
Intellectual  and  Moral  Powers  are  but  one  Power — All  Intelligence  Acquired, 
and  Moulded  by  an  inherited  Frame-work  of  Thought — Unless  Man  can, 
Independently  of  his  Antecedents  and  Environment,  Determine  his  own 
Constitution  and  Education,  he  cannot  be  Accountable — Reason  cannot  be 
Invoked  to  Verify  Something  not  Understood — Apologetics  Posits  a  Mys- 
tery as  the  Basis  of  Religion,  and  then  Seeks  to  Verify  the  Religion  in  Rea- 
son— Conscience  a  Refmed  Selllshness,  Provincial  and  Conventional — Con- 
science is  a  Growth,  a  Sanctimonious  Selfishness — The  Christian  Redemp- 
tion, an  Exhibition  of  Pure  Selfishness — Belief  beyond  Control. 

A  well  known  writer  has  said,  "We  can  operate  upon 
brutes  only -by  fear  of  punishment,  and  hope  of  reward.  We 
can  operate  upon  man  not  only  in  this  manner,  but  also  by  an 
appeal  to  his  consciousness  of  right  and  wrong;  and  by  the  use 
of  such  means  as  may  improve  his  moral  nature."  Were  this 
strictly  true,  and  if  it  meant  enough  to  justify  the  distinction,  it 
might  be  a  gratefully  refreshing  bit  of  information.  Apart  from 
its  sanction  no  motive  means  anything,  or  rather  there  is  no 
motive.  The  sanction,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  without  import 
to  any  one  except  as  the  motive  impels  or  restrains  the  subject, 
and  both  are  based  in  the  feeling  or  idea  of  interest,  really  in 
selfishness.  Motives  and  their  sanctions  are  variable  and  rela- 
tive in  their  essence  and  efficacy,  according  to  the  character 
and  capacity  of  the  subject.  It  is  not  degrading  man  to  the 
level  of  the  brute  to  show  that  the  distinction  in  the  above 
quoted  declaration  is  without  a  difference  except  in  degree,  and 
that  the  statement  as  a  whole  is  untrue.  Man,  like  the  brute, 
can  be  operated  on  only  by  fear  of  punishment  or  hope  of 
reward.  The  phrase,  consciousness  of  right  and  wrong,  means 
nothing  so  far  as  influencing  human  action  is  concerned,  above 
or  beyond  that  expressed  in  the  phrases  fear  of  punishment  and 
hope  of  reward. 


SCIENTIFIC   ACCOUNTABILITY.  423 

The  highest  order  of  so-called  moral  character  or  conscious- 
ness of  right  and  wrong  yet  developed  is  not  devoid  of,  but  is 
based  in  the  principle  of  selfishness  which  underlies  all  hope 
and  fear.  That  which  Philosophers  call  consciousness  of  right 
and  wrong  originates  in  the  selfishness  apparent  in  hope  and 
fear.  It  is  an  outgrowth  of  or  refinement  upon  that  very  prin- 
ciple. One  reared  in  a  refined  civilization  may  delight  in  things 
suited  to  the  tastes  which  he  may  have  acquired  by  reason  of 
such  rearing.  He  may  fear  things  calculated  to  disturb  his 
security  against  that  which,  from  such  rearing,  he  may  regard 
dangerous  in  some  respect.  These  are  variable  and  essentially 
relative  to  the  individual  as  constituted  and  educated.  There  is 
a  phase  of  what  is  called  charity  which  seems  to  be  almost  dis- 
interested, and  it  presents  one  of  the  most  pleasing  aspects  of 
human  life.  Some  take  pains  to  find  out  and  relieve  distress  of 
various  kinds.  If  there  is  such  thing  as  disinterested  action, 
this  would  seem  to  be  an  example  of  it.  But  when  analyzed 
the  motive  which  impels  them  is  found  to  be  pure  selfishness, 
the  hope  of  reward.  What  the  reward  may  be,  whether  popu- 
larity, happiness,  a  remotely  possible  pecuniary  profit,  or,  for- 
sooth, a  consciousness  of  having  done  good,  is  of  no  conse- 
quence so  f^ir  as  the  actual  selfishness  of  the  motive  is  con- 
cerned. Some  motives  may  appear  more  commendable  than 
others,  but  these  are  all  alike  traceable  to  the  hope  of  reward. 
There  is  a  phase  of  what  is  called  courage  which  seems  to  be 
almost  heroism,  and  it  presents  one  of  the  noblest  views  of 
human  life.  Some  take  pains  to  find  out  and  encounter  the 
greatest  dangers  in  enterprises  sometimes  good  and  sometimes 
bad.  They  may,  like  Arnold  Winkelried  and  others,  go  reso- 
lutely to  what  appears  to  be  certain  death  in  a  good  cause;  or 
they  may,  like  numerous  ruffians  have  done,  go  just  as  reso- 
lutely to  certain  death  in  a  bad  cause ;  they  may  even  trip  lightly 
up  the  steps  of  the  gallows;  but  when  analyzed  the  motives 
which  impel  them  are  found  to  be  purely  selfish, — fear  of 
punishment  in  some  cases,  hope  of  reward  in  others.  What 
the  punishment  may  be,  whether  physical  pain,  oppression,  the 
disgrace  of  cowardice  or  insubordination,  or  compunction  of 
conscience,  is  of  no  consequence  so  far  as  the  actual  selfishness 


424  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

of  the  motive  is  concerned.  Tiie  consciousness  of  right  and 
wrong  is  nothing  except  as  it  actuates  the  subject  in  that  which 
he  believes  to  be  in  some  way  good  or  bad  for  himself. 

This  good  or  bad  for  himself  may  be  a  mere  consciousness 
of  having  done  good  or  bad.  And  this,  to  use  a  homely  ex- 
pression, depends  upon  the  way  he  is  raised;  it  depends  upon 
what  the  civilization  in  which  he  was  reared  has  done  for  or 
made  of  him,  in  short  upon  his  education.  Others  differently 
constituted  may  have  had  similar  educations  with  different 
results.  Even  the  same  person  at  different  times  and  under 
different  circumstances  may  exhibit  different  degrees  of  the 
qualities  called  charity  and  courage.  Similar  causes  do  not 
necessarily  produce  similar  effects  unless  in  operating  under 
similar  circumstances  upon  similar  subjects.  The  martyrs  were 
actuated  by  this  same  principle  of  selfishness,  and  the  plainest 
precepts  of  Christianity  are  enforced  by  promises  and  threats. 
"Blessed  are  they  which  are  persecuted  for  righteousness  sake; 
for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  "Then  shall  he  also  say 
unto  them  on  the  left  hand,  Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  into 
everlasting  fire,  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels."  Hope 
and  fear — hope  of  reward,  and  fear  of  punishment.  These  are 
authentic  declarations  of  the  sanctions  of  the  strongest  possible 
motives  to  human  action,  call  it  moral  or  what  not.  If,  as  the 
Philosopher  declares,  a  moral  action  is  the  action  of  an  intelli- 
gent agent  capable  of  distinguishing  between  right  and  wrong; 
and  if,  as  he  further  declares,  the  results  which  God  has  con- 
nected with  actions  will  inevitably  occur,  and  cannot  be  eluded 
or  averted  any  more  than  the  sequences  which  follow  by  the 
laws  of  gravitation,  then  the  import  of  the  above  quoted 
promise  and  threat  as  sanctions  of  motive  to  so-called  moral 
action  is  indeed  terrible.  It  is  the  alternative  of  salvation  or 
damnation,  whatever  they  may  be,  to  the  subject  impelled  by 
the  motive.  Where  such  elements  plainly  appear  in  the  motive 
to  any  action,  such  action  cannot  be  unselfish ;  its  motive  can- 
not be  devoid  of  hope  and  fear,  it  cannot  be  the  abstract  good 
of  the  action.  Strictly  speaking  such  action  cannot  be  morally 
good. 


SCIENTIFIC   ACCOUNTABILITY.  425 

If  there  is  such  thing  as  moral  action  at  all,  it  necessarily  im- 
plies personal  accountability  for  action,  and  this  necessarily 
implies  free  agency.  Action  that  is  not  free  can  have  no  moral 
quality.  The  mind  cannot  conceive  how  any  one  can  be  either 
praiseworthy  or  blameworthy  for  that  to  which  he  is  inexorably 
impelled.  If  one  is  accountable  for  his  action  he  must  be  account- 
able to  a  superior  Being,  one  having  power  and  authority  over 
him.  This  cannot  be  just  unless  he  willingly  assumes  the 
accountability,  or  having  the  power  to  absolve  the  relation  he 
willingly  continues  it.  A  slave  is  not  accountable,  he  exercises 
only  his  master's  will.  A  citizen  dissatisfied  with  the  law  and 
unable  to  procure  a  reform  may  migrate.  Man  did  not  voluntarily 
come  into  existence,  nor  voluntarily  assume  allegiance  to  any  nat- 
ural or  so-called  moral  law.  However  dissatisfied  he  may  be  or 
become  with  such  law,  if  it  really  is,  he  can  neither  procure  a 
reform  nor  migrate  beyond  its  sway.  He  has  no  part  in  its 
making  or  administration.  He  has  no  voice  in  his  own  con- 
stitution, construction,  or  adaptation  to  it.  It  is  in  force  and  he 
is  made  subject  to  it.  If  he  finds  it  oppressive  it  must  be 
because  he  is  not  suitably  adapted  to  it.  As  he  cannot  change 
his  own  nature,  or  procure  a  reform  in  such  law,  or  migrate 
beyond  its  sway,  he  cannot  be  free.  If  he  could  reconstruct 
and  adapt  himself,  he  might  attain  to  a  provisional  or  limited 
freedom,  but  he  can  never  be  free  so  long  as  he  can  neither 
repeal  nor  amend  an  oppressive  law,  nor  absolve  his  allegiance 
to  it  by  migration  or  otherwise. 

Possibly  there  might  still  be  some  measure  of  responsibility 
resting  upon  him  if  he  can  reconstruct  and  adapt  himself  so  as 
to  conform  to  such  law.  Can  he  do  this?  If  so,  ought  he.? 
The  word  ought  really  embraces  both  questions,  for  no  one 
ought  unless  he  can.  Philosophers  who  claim  that  all  phenom- 
ena are  subject  to  and  controlled  by  law,  will  scarcely  allow 
that  the  construction  and  adaptation  of  man  are  matters  of  mere 
chance.  They  will  maintain  that  these  are  equally  subject  to 
and  controlled  by  the  same  law.  Allowing  they  are  correct  in 
this,  man's  capacities,  qualities,  and  tendencies,  are  as  legit- 
imate a  part  of  the  order  of  nature  as  any  other  phenomena  in  it. 
Man's  Maker  (who  also  made  the  law)  is  probably  wiser  than 


426  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

he.  The  law  is  hopelessly  beyond  man's  amendment,  and  he 
cannot  possibly  escape  subjection  to  it.  His  Maker  has  endowed 
him  with  certain  capacities  and  cursed  him  with  certain  qual- 
ities and  tendencies.  In  His  infinite  wisdom  He  has  made 
these  a  part  of  the  order  of  nature.  Finding  them  in  nature, 
man  cannot  say  they  are  not  as  properly  a  part  thereof  as  any- 
thing else  therein.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  they  are  the 
work  of  another  power,  or  of  man  upon  himself.  Even  if  they 
were  man's  work  upon  himself,  he  could  have  wrought  them 
only  by  means  of  other  capacities,  qualities,  and  tendencies 
previously  given  him ;  so  they  are,  if  not  directly  in  all  cases, 
yet  ultimately  the  gift  of  the  Power  which  created  man. 

Suppose  the  creature  (man)  finds,  or  thinks  he  finds,  some  of 
these  his  peculiar  gifts  at  variance  with  what  he  in  his  wisdom 
conceives  to  be  the  law.  Suppose  they  move  him  to  what  he 
conceives  to  be  violations  of  the  supposed  law.  It  is  more 
likely  that  he  misconceives  the  law  than  that  he  knows  these 
divinely  given  capacities,  qualities,  and  tendencies  to  be  essen- 
tially bad.  Otherwise  he  must  be  wiser  on  these  points  than 
his  Maker,  because  He  is  infinitely  and  absolutely  good,  and 
hence  would  not  curse  His  creature  with  evil  tendencies.  If 
this  is  incorrect,  if  the  Maker  has  made  man  and  given  him 
capacities,  qualities,  and  tendencies  essentially  bad,  it  is  equally 
as  reasonable  to  suppose  that  He  has  also  made  unjust  laws  for 
his  government.  In  reason,  one  of  the  most  unjust  laws  that 
can  be  supposed  would  be  one  which  damns  the  creature  for 
doing  that  to  which  he  is  by  a  natural  tendency  inclined.  In 
reason,  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  a  law  of  nature  for  the  infrac- 
tion of  which  man  must  suffer,  and  then  suppose  him  by  nature 
disposed  to  violate  such  law,  without  also  supposing  malice 
toward  him  on  the  part  of  his  Maker.  Man's  capacities,  quali- 
ties, and  tendencies,  are  so  intimately  blended  together,  so 
mutually  dependent  upon  each  other,  and  so  divinely  bestowed 
(or  inflicted)  upon  him,  that  in  reason  it  is  impossible  to  sup- 
pose him  so  free  as  to  be  accountable  for  any  action  to  which 
he  may  be  impelled  by  a  natural  tendency.  The  necessary 
consequence  is  that  in  reason  no  action  to  which  man  is  natur- 


SCIENTIFIC    ACCOUNTABILITY.  427 

ally  inclined  can  be  either  morally  right  or  morally   wrong. 
Reason  has  no  part  in  either  morality  or  Religion. 

The  Philosopher  says,  "Two  things  are  necessary  in  order 
to  constitute  any  being  a  moral  agent.  They  are,  first,  that  he 
possess  an  intellectual  power,  by  which  he  can  understand  the 
relation  in  which  he  stands  to  the  beings  by  whom  he  is  sur- 
rounded; secondly,  that  he  possess  a  moral  power,  by  which 
the  feeling  of  obligation  is  suggested  to  him,  as  soon  as  the 
relation  in  which  he  stands  is  understood.  This  is  sufficient  to 
render  him  a  moral  agent."  \f  this  is  sufficient  to  render  man 
a  moral  agent,  it  may  be  interesting  to  inquire  what  this  is. 
Perhaps  nothing  could  be  more  disastrous  than  the  abolition  of 
duty.  Man  in  his  infinitely  various  and  complex  lelations  can- 
not reasonably  be  conceived  of  either  as  exempt  from  it  or  sub- 
ject to  it.  It  is  merely  another  name  for  moral  obligation.  It 
cannot  reasonably  be  supposed  to  exceed  capacity.  That  no 
one  ought  unless  he  can,  includes  that  no  one  ought  more  than 
he  can.  It  may  also  imply  that  every  one  ought  all  he  can. 
But  the  Philosopher  says  two  powers  are  essential  to  the  moral 
obligation,  the  intellectual  and  moral  powers.  This  distinction 
deserves  consideration.  If  there  is  a  moral  power  by  which 
the  feeling  of  obligation  is  suggested  as  soon  as  one  understands 
the  relation  in  which  he  stands,  it  must  be  also  an  intellectual 
power,  as  much  so  at  least  as  that  by  which  the  relation  is 
understood.  The  supposed  feeling  of  obligation  is  merely  an 
idea  or  sense  or  duty.  Such  an  idea  or  sense  (or  indeed  any 
idea  or  sense)  cannot  be  had  or  conceived  without  the  exercise 
of  intellectual  power.  It  is  absurd  to  suppose,  indeed  one 
cannot  suppose,  an  idea  or  sense  of  duty,  or,  forsooth,  the 
alleged  feeling  of  obligation  otherwise  than  as  a  purely  intel- 
lectual actor  state.  If  there  is  an  intellectual  power  by  means 
of  which  one  can  understand  the  relation  in  which  he  stands  to 
the  beings  by  whom  he  is  surrounded,  it  must  also  be  or  include 
the  moral  power,  provided  there  is  really  a  moral  pov^er,  by 
which  the  feeling  of  obligation  is  suggested  as  soon  as  the  rela- 
tion is  understood.  If  an  idea  of  moral  obligation  arises  from 
the  conception  of  a  relation,  the  relation  itself  must  be  the 
source  or  efficient  cause  of  the  moral  obligation.     It  might  be 


4^8  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

suspected  or  perceived  or  partially  understood  without  this,  but 
it  cannot  be  a  relation  without  giving  rise  to  some  kind  of 
moral  obligation,  and  hence  it  cannot  be  understood  without 
the  idea  or  sense  or  feeling  of  moral  obligation  is  at  the  same 
time  suggested.  The  word  relation,  applied  to  intellectual 
creatures,  has  no  meaning  apart  from  obligation.  As,  with 
respect  to  man,  there  is  no  relation  known  or  conceivable  with- 
out a  corresponding  obligation,  it  would  seem  that  obligation 
IS  the  very  essence  of  relation.  1  think  the  distinction  between 
the  intellectual  and  the  so-called  moral  power  is  utterly  sense- 
less. While  the  intellectual  power  may  enable  one  to  under- 
stand things  without  regard  to  obligation,  things  perhaps  of 
which  no  obligation  can  be  distinctly  predicated,  it  also  enables 
one  to  understand  duty  and  obligation  so  f^iras  they  are  under- 
stood, and  hence  must  be  (or  embrace)  the  alleged  moral 
power,  it,  strictly  speaking,  there  is  such  power. 

If  the  intellectual  power  is  (or  if  the  intellectual  and  moral 
powers  are)  reasonably  sufficient  to  render  man  a  moral  agent, 
the  Philosopher's  case  would  appear  to  be  made  out,  and  free 
agency  would  seem  to  be  a  reasonable  fact,  it  may  be  a  fact. 
But  I  believe  there  is  no  known  data  from  which  by  any  logical 
argument  it  can  be  shown  to  be  a  reasonable  fact.  The  con- 
ditions of  moral  responsibility  imposed  by  the  philosopher  may 
not  be  entirely  impossible;  but  I  believe  that  very  few  persons 
have  ever  actually  understood  the  relation  in  which  they  stood 
to  the  beings  by  whom  they  were  surrounded.  It  should  be 
remembered  that  the  greater  part  of  what  he  proposes  as  moral 
duty  arises  from  man's  supposed  relation  to  a  Supreme  Being. 
The  man  who  has  an  intellectual  power  by  which  he  can 
understand  that  relation  is  pretty  well  equipped  intellectually. 
A  thousand  theories  confused  and  conflicting  now  prevail,  and 
the  voice  of  Reason  is  as  eloquent  and  persuasive  in  favor  of 
any  one  of  them  as  in  favor  of  any  other.  But  however  that 
may  be,  while  man  acquires  his  knowledge,  his  capacity  to 
acquire  it,  in  other  words,  his  intellectual  power,  is  not  ac- 
quired. Whatever  of  this  he  has  is  inherent  in  him.  By  appli- 
cation he  may  enhance  this  power,  but  how  he  applies  himself 
thereto  depends  in  some  measure  upon  proclivities  also  inher- 


SCIENTIFIC   ACCOUNTABILITY.  429 

ent  in  him,  and  perhaps  in  greater  measure  upon  circum- 
stances over  which  he  has  no  control.  For  the  proclivities 
which  inhere  in  him,  as  well  as  the  circumstances  under  which 
he  lives  and  is,  he  may  be  either  congratulated  or  pitied,  but 
certainly  neither  commended  nor  blamed.  Idiocy  is  a  defect. 
Insanity  is  a  disease.  Bad  temper  implies  inequable  organism 
or  deranged  organism.  All  of  them  are  alike  traceable  to  phys- 
iological condition.  Petrucio  tells  his  Shrew  that  meat  engen- 
ders choler.  "If,  before  experience  begins,  there  is  possessed 
an  inherited  framework  of  thought;  then  the  structure  of  that 
framework  must  fix,  in  great  part  if  not  entirely,  the  manner  in 
which  experiences  are  dealt  with." 

Unless  there  is  at  birth  something  more  in  the  mental  organ- 
ism than  a  mere  capacity  or  reciptivity,  and  no  more  was  ever 
apparent,  then  all  the  intelligence  which  must  form  the  basis  of 
moral  obligation  is  acquired.  If  the  individual  inherits  a  frame- 
work of  thought,  the  structure  of  which  must  in  great  part  if 
not  entirely  fix  the  manner  in  which  experiences  are  dealt 
with,  that  is.  determine  for  him  how  intelligence  shall  assimi- 
late and  be  digested  into  the  knowledge  by  which  his  intellect- 
ual power  is  to  be  enhanced,  there  would  seem  to  be  very  lit- 
tle of  the  supposed  intellectual  power  within  his  power.  It 
would  all  or  nearly  all  appear  to  be  fortuitous  to  him.  Con- 
sidering further  that  during  the  greater  part  of  its  formative 
process  the  mind  is  wrought  upon  by  influences  from  without, 
the  intellectual  power  of  man  is,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned,  as 
liable  to  be  of  any  one  type  or  character  as  of  any  other.  If 
such  intellectual  power  is  the  measure  of  moral  obligation, 
then  in  reason,  dutv  is  as  various  and  as  variable  as  the  fluctu- 
ating opinions  of  men.  It  would  be  indeed  troublesome  to 
classify  a  knowledge  of  it,  and  impossible  to  reduce  it  to  a 
science. 

In  the  general  argument  for  free-agency,  moral  obligation, 
and  personal  accountability,  the  Philosopher  says,  "Before  you 
resolve  upon  an  action,  or  a  course  of  action,  cultivate  the  habit 
of  deciding  upon  its  moral  character.  Let  the  first  question 
always  be,  is  this  action  right  ?  For  this  purpose  God  gave 
you  this  faculty.     If  you  do  not  use  it  you  are  false  to  yourself, 


430  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

and  inexcusable  before  God.  *  *  *  If  we  ask  this  question 
Jirsf,  it  can  be  generally  decided  with  ease.  If  we  wait  until 
the  mind  is  agitated  and  harrassed  by  contending  emotions,  it 
will  not  be  easy  to  decide  correctly."  I  believe  this  is  the  first 
instance  I  have  noticed  in  philosophy  of  the  recommendation  of 
precipitancy  in  order  to  arrive  at  the  correct  decision  of  any 
serious  question.  1  believe  that  deliberation  is  generally  more 
in  favor.  If  the  first  question  should  always  be — is  this  action 
right — then,  if  it  must  be  decided  by  the  individual  by  the  use 
of  a  faculty  which  God  has  given  him  therefor,  he  will  probably 
reach  such  a  decision  as  such  God-given  faculty  may  lead  him 
to.  His  standard  or  idea  of  right  by  which  he  is  to  decide  will 
probably  be  such  as  this  same  God-given  faculty,  educationally 
biased,  may  cause  him  to  conceive  to  be  the  true  one.  Un- 
less he  could,  independently  of  his  antecedents  and  environ- 
ment, determine  for  himself  his  entire  constitution  and  the 
results  of  his  education,  he  could  not  reasonably  be  held 
accountable  for  the  correctness  of  his  decision,  even  if  made 
before  the  mind  was  "harrassed  by  contending  emotions." 
The  same  God  who  gave  him  the  faculty  to  decide  has  probably 
also  given  him  the  tendency  to  withhold  the  decision  until 
the  mind  is  harrassed  by  contending  emotions,  to  which,  or  to 
the  objects  of  which,  he  may  also  have  a  God-given  tendency. 
Upon  the  relative  or  comparative  force  of  these  tendencies 
depends  the-  question  whether  he  will  decide  this  quest/on 
before  the  mind  is  so  harrassed.  Unless  the  person  is  account- 
able for  his  constitution  and  education,  for  his  natural  tenden- 
cies and  their  relative  force,  as  well  as  for  the  faculty  to  decide 
and  its  character,  he  cannot  reasonably  be  held  accountable  for 
the  correctness  with  which  he  decides  this  question,  nor  indeed 
for  not  deciding  it  at  all.  In  reason,  if  we  do  7iot  use  this 
ficulty  we  are  neither  false  to  ourselves  nor  inexcusable  before 
God.  1  do  not  pretend  to  say  what  may  or  may  not  be.  I  am 
merely  considering  the  reasonableness  of  the  doctrine  of  an 
alleged  Moral  Philosophy,  which  is  based  upon  an  alleged  free 
agency  of  man. 

If  man  is  indeed  free,  philosophy  is  sadly  inadequate  to  the 
task  of  making  the  fact  appear  reasonable.     It  deals  largely  and 


SCIENTIFIC    ACCOUNTABILITY.  43 1 

learnedly  with  what  it  calls  passions.  These  are  simply  natu- 
ral tendencies,  perhaps  unduly  intensified  or  aggravated.  An 
infinitely  powerful,  wise,  and  good  Creator  has  implanted  them 
in  the  nature  of  every  individual  created.  We  learn  to  regard 
some  of  them  good,  others  bad.  These  are  mere  provincial  and 
conventional  ideas.  We  know  that  according  to  their  predomi- 
nance they  impel  us  to  this  or  that  character  of  action,  or 
restrain  us.  Until  we  learn  how  we  will  regard  them  we  do 
not  regard  them  at  all,  nor  cognize  them.  What  we  learn  of 
the  way  in  which  to  regard  them  is  a  matter  over  which  we 
have  no  control.  It  depends  entirely  upon  the  mental  capacity 
and  natural  tendency  divinely  given  us,  as  affected  by  our  edu- 
cational bias,  one  result  of  our  environment.  No  one  can 
reasonably  be  held  accountable  for  these  or  for  either  of  them. 
Man  is  helplessly,  and,  so  far  as  personal  accountability  is  con- 
cerned, hopelessly  a  creature  of  a  Power  so  far  above  his  capac- 
ity to  comprehend  that  he  cannot  even  imagine  the  capacity 
that  could  intelligently  conceive  of  such  Power. 

Whoever  looks  within  finds  himself  constituted  thus  and 
so,  and  if  he  looks  vvithout  he  finds  himself  environed  thus  and 
so.  Constitution  and  environment  are  the  potent  factors  in  the 
development  of  whatever  there  is  of  personal  character.  No 
one  can  determine  for  himself,  independently  of  them,  what 
his  character  shall  be;  at  least  no  one  is  known  to  have  done 
so.  If  the  tendency  to  good  is  stronger  than  the  tendency  to 
evil,  and  if  circumstances  are  propitious,  the  individual  may  be 
fortunate,  he  may  develop  what  is  considered  a  good  charac- 
ter. Otherwise  he  will  not,  and  it  may  reasonably  be  said  he 
cannot.  The  strongest  of  his  divinely  given  tendencies  will 
certainly  sway  him,  and  if  the  counter  tendency  is  too  weak  to 
resist  this  he  cannot  overcome  or  withstand  it.  It  cannot 
reasonably  be  said  that  he  ought  unless  he  can.  Capacity  is 
Reason's  measure  of  duty.  Whoever  intelligently  looks  within 
and  without  himself  cannot  reasonably  regard  himself  free. 

The  Philosopher  admonishes  us  to  "Let  the  question,  Is  this 
right — be  asked  first,  before  imagination  has  set  before  us  the 
seductions  of  pleasure,  or  any  step  has  been  taken  which  should 
pledge  our  consistency  of  character."     This  might  require  some 


432  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

celerity  of  mental  movement.  The  imagination  which  can  go 
from  the  Pleiades  to  the  Southern  Cross  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  has  some  speed.  If  the  action  whose  rectitude  is  to  be 
questioned  is  expected  to  be  attended  or  followed  by  pleasure, 
the  thought  of  the  pleasure  characterizing  and  distinguishing 
the  action  will  necessarily  be  in  the  mind  as  soon  as  the  thought 
of  the  action.  It  will  be  impossible  to  think  the  action  distinctly 
from  other  actions  without  at  the  same  time  thinking  the 
pleasure  by  which  it  is  characterized  and  distinguished.  The 
quality  of  the  action  as  pleasant  or  painful  must  be  thought  at 
least  as  early  as  the  mind  can  inquire  as  to  its  so-called  moral 
character.  And  its  character  as  to  right  and  wrong  will  make 
the  action  pleasant  or  painful  to  the  person  contemplating  it, 
according  as  he  is  constituted  and  educated.  Either  pain  or 
pleasure  may  result  from  actions  without  it  being  necessary 
that  the  specific  pain  or  pleasure  so  to  result  be  thought  when 
the  action  is  thought.  In  such  cases  the  pain  or  pleasure  is 
generally  contingent,  or  perhaps  more  accurately  speaking, 
remotely  consequent.  Where  the  action  itself  is,  or  is  expected 
to  be,  either  pleasant  or  painful,  or  immediately  productive  of 
pain  or  pleasure,  such  quality  is  generally  the  first  feature  of  it 
beheld  by  the  mind  which  thinks  it.  No  conscience  can  be 
brisk  enough  to  get  in  its  inquiry  as  to  the  rectitude  of  the 
action  "before  imagination  has  set  before  us  the  seductions  of 
pleasure."  When  the  rectitude  of  the  action  is  in  question  it 
must  be  because  in  some  respect  it  is  desirable,  while  in  some 
other  respect  it  is  objectionable, — it  or  its  expected  consequen- 
ces. No  one  can  ask  himself  the  question — is  this  action  right 
— without  being  fust  moved  to  contemplate  or  think  the 
action.  Should  it  be  an  action  to  which  the  seductions  of 
pleasure  may  incite,  it  will  generally  be  found  that  the  idea  of 
such  pleasure  has  prompted  the  contemplation  of  it, — certainly 
if  the  person  has  really  contemplated  its  performance.  To  hold 
otherwise  is  to  insist  that  the  person  aimlessly  contemplates 
vapid  vacuity.  In  teaching  and  promulgating  moral  philosophy 
for  the  culture  of  the  human  mind  and  consequent  ennobling 
of  character,  the  principles  of  psychology  and  the  possibilities 
of  mental  manipulations  should  not  be  entirely  ignored.     Liter- 


SCIENTIFIC   ACCOUNTABILITY.  433 

ature  abounds  in  exhortations  to  a  supposed  moral  duty,  and 
in  so-calied  moral  precepts,  many  of  which  seem  to  be  calcu- 
lated to  make  men  better,  and  which  if  they  were  more  gener 
ally  heeded  might  be  conducive  to  human  happiness.  The 
difficulty  with  them  is  the  attempt  that  is  made  to  enforce  them 
on  the  authority  of  Reason.  They  are  expressions  of  the  doc- 
trines and  demands  of  the  various  Religions.  Their  promulga 
tors,  in  the  capacities  of  professors  of  various  alleged  Sciences, 
and  learned  literary  men  of  leisure,  no  less  than  the  avowed 
sectarian  Apologists,  attempt  to  entorce  on  supposed  principles 
of  Reason,  doctrines  which  they  cannot  even  state  so  intelligi- 
bly as  that  they  may  be  understood  in  any  reasonable  applica- 
tion of  them;  doctrines  which  it  is  apparent  from  their  discus- 
sions of  them,  they  do  not  themselves  understand.  Indeed  a 
religion  once  understood  would  be  no  religion.  A  religion 
without  a  mystery  is  psychologically  impossible.  Reason  can- 
not reasonably  be  invoked  for  the  verification  of  anything  not  un- 
derstood. The  genuine  or  supposed  principles  of  reason  can- 
not be  intelligently  or  reasonably  invoked  or  applied  in  the 
verification  of  anything  which  is  not  at  the  time  intelligently 
comprehensible  and  comprehended  by  the  mind  attempting  to 
make  the  application. 

The  idea  of  Apologetics  is  not  only  unreasonable;  it  is  incon- 
sistent with  itself  and  hopelessly  illogical.  Moral  Philosophy 
(Apologetics)  generally  begins  with  the  assertion  of  a  mystery; 
the  existence  of  a  Power  to  which  man  is  said  to  be  accounta- 
ble for  his  actions.  This  is  generally  followed  with  the  postu- 
late of  the  immortality  of  man,  his  future  life  of  bliss  or  woe 
according  to  the  account  he  finally  renders  to  such  Power.  ,The 
existence,  nature  and  attributes  of  such  Power  are  absolute 
mysteries.  Man's  relation  to  such  Power  must  also  be  an 
absolute  mystery,  for  no  mind  can  conceive  the  relation  existing 
or  supposed  to  exist  between  a  known  and  an  unknown  quan- 
tity. In  order  that  there  may  be  a  relation  at  all  there  must  be 
two  objects  related  to  each  other,  or  one  of  which  must  be 
related  to  the  other.  The  relation  must  depend  upon  the 
nature  of  each  of  them.  It  must  be  such  a  relation  as  the 
nature  of  each  object  renders  possible  between  them,  or  possi- 


434  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ble  for  one  of  them  to  bear  to  the  other.  If  the  nature  of  one 
of  the  objects  is  unknown  we  may  still  believe  that  some  kind 
of  relation  may  exist  between  them,  or  that  the  one  whose 
nature  we  think  we  know  bears  some  kind  of  relation  to  the 
other.  We  may  know  the  existence  (perhaps  not  the  nature) 
of  one  of  the  objects,  and  imagine  the  existence  of  the  other, 
and  then  imagine  a  relation  between  them,  or  a  relation  of  the 
known  object  to  the  unknown  object.  This  is  precisely  what 
Apologetics  does,  and  all  its  alleged  reasoning  is  conducted  on 
this  plan.  It  would  be  greatly  incensed  at  such  an  estimate  of 
its  achievements,  but  in  view  of  its  pretensions  and  arrogance 
the  estimate  is  a  charitable  one.  When  Apologetics  has  learn- 
edly postulated  the  existence  of  the  unknown  Object  whose 
nature  is  not  only  unknown  but  inconceivable,  it  then  posits 
man's  relation  to  such  Object,  which  relation  must  be  as 
unknown  and  as  inconceivable  as  the  nature  of  the  unknown 
Object.  It  then  proceeds  with  more  learning  than  wisdom  to 
explain  this  absolute  mystery  in  terms  of  an  alleged  knowledge 
consisting  of  inferences  illogically  drawn  from  unreasonable 
assumptions. 

That  there  may  be  any  reason  or  logic  in  any  so-called 
moral  philosophy,  and  this  without  reference  to  its  data  or 
processes,  the  free  agency  or  free  will  of  man  is  indispensable. 
To  establish  this  the  argument  should  be  such  that  the  mind 
will  not  necessarily  revolt  at  it.  The  spiritual  physician  should 
know  not  only  the  chemical  qualities  of  his  nostrum,  he  should 
know  something  of  the  pathology  of  his  patients.  He  should 
know  that  Mind  is  a  condition  of  matter,  and  that  Will  is  one 
of  the  phases  or  functions  or  manifestations  of  Mind.  That 
Will,  then,  is  a  phase  or  function  or  manifestation  of  the  condi- 
tion or  state  of  the  nerve  substance  (matter)  in  which  Mind  is 
supposed  to  abide,  where  its  acts  and  impressions  are  regis- 
tered, and  by  means  of  or  through  which  it  asserts  itself  He 
should  know  that  a  specific  psychical  state  is  the  net  result 
of  the  effect  of  something  external  upon  the  internal  organiza- 
tion of  nerve  substance,  the  totality  of  the  condition  or  state  ot 
which  constitutes  Mind;  and  that  Will  is  an  activity  of  Mind 
arising  frorn  some  such  specific  psychical  state. 


I 


SCIENTIFIC   ACCOUNTABILITY.  435 

The  organization  of  nerve  substance,  as  to  its  susceptibility 
and  otherwise,  is  a  matter  over  which  the  individual  has  no 
control  or  influence,  it  mav  be  so  organized  and  constituted 
as  to  be  in  this  way  or  that  way  susceptible  to  the  external 
which  in  some  manner  affects  it.  Heredity,  which  is  the  trans- 
mission to  it  of  the  effects  of  ancestral  experiences,  by  determ- 
ining the  manner  of  its  organization  also  prescribes  the  manner 
in  which  the  nerve  substance  shall  be  affected  by  this  or  that 
external;  and  environment  determines  the  particular  externals 
which  shall  affect  it.  In  the. production  of  the  specific  psychical 
state  which  gives  rise  to  the  particular  activity  of  the  Mind 
which  is  called  Will,  the  individual  is  merely  a  spectator;  how- 
ever deeply  concerned  he  may  be,  he  has  no  part  in  the  per- 
formance proper.  -  He  does  not  act,  he  is  merely  acted  upon. 
It  cannot  reasonably  be  said  that  he  is  free,  or  that  he  wills. 

It  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the  question  here  is  not  the 
real  truth  or  untruth  of  the  postulate  of  free  agency  or  free  will, 
but  the  reasonableness  or  unreasonableness  of  the  alleged  argu- 
ments of  Apologetics,  the  so-called  moral  philosophy.  So  far 
as  the  human  mind  is  concerned,  the  question  of  freedom  or 
fatalism  need  never  be  raised,  because  it  can  never  be  intelli- 
gently decided.  No  human  mind  can  possibly  rise  to  a  con- 
ception of  anything  which  it  can  imagine  as  an  intelligible  solu- 
tion of  it.  Materialism,  which  is  only  a  more  scholastic  name 
for  fatalism,  or  which  at  least  includes  fatalism,  proceeds  with 
perfect  logic  from  unquestionable  data  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  is  really  no  free  will,  Yet  almost  every  step  in  this 
process  contradicts  this  conclusion,  and  this  conclusion  even 
contradicts  itself,  in  the  essential  implication  that  the  mind  is 
free  to  choose  between  it  and  the  dogma  of  free  will. 

I  said  above  that  Apologetics  is  not  only  unreasonable,  but 
also  illogical.  To  attempt  to  enforce  a  religion  or  morality  by 
reasoning  is  to  admit  its  need  of  support.  It  is  to  admit  (or 
rather  to  assert)  that  the  divine  authority  for  it  may  be  made 
intelligible  to  the  mind,  and  thus  be  divested  of  the  mystery 
without  which  no  mind  will  hold  it  in  reverence,  to  say  nothing 
of  religious  awe.  It  is  to  place  an  alleged  inconceivably  good 
and  wise  and  powerful  Creator  in  the  attitude  of  a  suitor  at  the 


436  ETHICS  OF    LITERATURE. 

feet  of  his  admittedly  evil,  ignorant,  and  impotent  creatures, 
begging  credence  for  a  doubtful  authority,  which  is  rendered 
more  suspicious  by  that  act.  It  is  to  claim  for  religion  and 
morality  an  affinity  with  Science,  which  affinity  science  does 
not  assume  to  deny,  but  modestly  admits  cannot  exist,  because 
religion  and  morality,  if  they  are  valid,  are  infinitely  above  and 
beyond  the  range  of  its  research.  This  is  not  all  nor  the  worst. 
It  is  to  commit  the  doctrinaire  of  the  religion  and  morality  to 
the  validity  of  principles  which,  if  reasonably  applied,  are  utterly 
subsersive  of  all  claim  of  validity  in  the  so-called  moral  philoso- 
phy. A  leading  scientist  says,  "A  small  difference  in  the  pig- 
ment of  a  sense,  by  giving  that  sense  greater  susceptibility, 
may  determine  the  animal's  preferences,  tastes,  and  pursuits; 
in  other  words,  its  whole  destiny.  In  a  human  being  the  cir- 
cumstance of  being  acutely  sensitive  in  one  or  two  leading 
senses,  may  rule  the  entire  character — intellectual  and  moral. 
The  contrast  between  a  sensuous  and  a  reflective  nature  might 
take  its  rise  in  the  outworks  of  the  sense  organs,  apart  even  from 
the  endowments  of  the  brain.  In  this  case  the  nervous  system 
would  follow  the  cue,  instead  of  taking  the  lead,  of  the  special 
senses.  *  *  *  The  mind  is  completely  at  the  mercy  of  the 
bodily  condition ;  there  is  no  trace  of  a  separate,  independent, 
self-supporting  spiritual  agent,  rising  above  all  the  fluctuations 
of  the  bodily  frame."  What  these  fluctuations  of  the  bodily 
frame  shall  be  or  entail,  is  as  little  within  our  personal  control 
as  the  construction  of  our  bodily  frame.  A  slight  difference  in 
the  inherited  pigment  of  a  sense  may  render  them  fluctuations 
of  this  or  of  that  character,  may  give  rise  to  this  or  that  inter- 
pretation of  the  phenomena  encountered  by  the  sense  organs. 

The  same  scientist  further  says,  "When  to  the  simple  instincts 
of  organic  life  we  add  the  higher  instincts,  including  our  feel- 
ings, and  their  embodiment  in  our  voluntary  powers,  and  even 
in  our  intelligence,  the  number  is  enlarged  on  a  scale  corre- 
sponding with  the  acquired  aptitudes;  and  the  new  theory  is 
that  all  these  higher  instincts  are  hereditary,  or  transmitted 
experiences."  And  again,  "the  Will  consists  mainly  in  follow- 
ing the  lead  of  pleasure  and  drawing  back  from  the  touch  of 
pain."     If  we  inherit  the  higher  instincts,  by  which  the  ideas 


SCIENTIFIC   ACCOUNTABILITY.  437 

of  pleasure  and  pain  are  gauged,  and  if  a  small  difference  in 
the  inherited  pigment  of  an  inherited  sense  may  determine  our 
preferences  and  tastes,  reason  would  revolt  at  the  idea  of 
accountability  for  the  consequences  of  any  act  to  which  one 
may  be  disposed  by  such  inherited  preferences  and  tastes.  If 
the  circumstance  of  being  acutely  sensitive  in  one  or  two  lead- 
ing senses  may  rule  the  entire  character,  intellectual  and  moral, 
there  is  in  reason  no  such  thing  as  personal  accountability  for 
character,  nor  for  the  acts  by  which  character  is  usually  esti- 
mated. 

The  moral  philosopher  tacitly  asserts  that  ''conscience  is  a 
growth,"  that  it  is  itself  a  feeling,  emotion,  or  impulse  of 
empirical  origin;  and  not  a  primary  principle  or  unerring 
guide  or  monitor  in  morals.  He  says  it  may  be  corrupted, 
abused,  and  stifled.  And  "that  it  is  only  by  cultivating  the 
practical  supremacy  of  conscience  over  every  other  impiihe 
that  you  can  attain  to  that  bold,  simple,  manly,  elevated  char- 
acter which  is  essential  to  true  greatness."  If,  as  science 
maintains,  the  mind  is  completely  at  the  mercy  of  the  bodily 
condition — if  there  is  no  trace  of  a  separate,  independent,  self- 
supporting  spiritual  agent,  rising  above  all  the  fluctuations  of 
the  bodily  frame,  then  whatever  there  is  of  conscience  must  be 
a  growth,  like  all  other  mental  acquisitions.  It  may  be  a  highly 
cultured  sense  of  discrimination  between  right  and  wrong.  It 
may  be  a  zealous  advocate  of  the  right  and  a  devout  monitor 
against  the  wrong.  But  if  morality  and  religion  claim  akin  to 
science,  they  must  admit  that  this  depends  upon  a  possible 
difference  in  the  inherited  pigment  of  an  inherited  sense,  and 
this  is  to  admit  away  their  whole  case.  That  the  practical  su- 
premacy of  conscience  over  every  other  impusle  should  be  culti- 
vated in  order  to  attain  to  the  "bold,  simple,  manly  elevated 
character,  which  is  essential  to  true  greatness" — rather,  which 
is  itself  true  greatness — is  simply  a  declaration  that  it  is  one's 
duty  to  do  his  duty.  But  if  one  is  handicapped  with  inherited 
senses,  preferences,  and  tastes,  reason  would  scarcely  hold  him 
accountable  if  he  were  thereby  prevented  from  cultivating  the 
practical  supremacy  of  conscience  over  every  other  impulse. 


4^8  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

The  reasonable,  or  rather  the  essential  deductions  from  some 
of  the  postulates  of  science  are  to  the  effect  that  conscience  is  at 
most,  only  a  refined  or  sanctimonious  selfishness;  and  that  its 
distinctions  between  right  and  wrong  are  provincial  and  con- 
ventional. The  science  to  which  religion  and  morality  attempt 
to  cling  discovers  in  different  communities  and  among  different 
individuals  contradictory  consciences.  When  the  Moral  Philoso- 
pher attempts  to  set  up  a  supreme  or  standard  conscience  to 
which  the  local  or  individual  conscience  should  conform,  he 
merely  expresses  the  opinion  .he  has  formed,  as  an  essential,  re- 
sult of  the  inherited  pigment  of  an  inherited  sense  organ,  which 
may  differ  from  that  of  persons  of  different  consciences.  The 
authenticity  of  his  standard  will  probably  be  like  that  of  the 
doctrine  of  those  who  have  assumed  to  voice  the  alleged  will 
and  wisdom  of  the  Almighty.  He  may  not  be  able  to  give  any 
sufficient  reason  why  he,  in  preference  to  any  other  person, 
should  be  empowered  and  entrusted  to  declare  the  supreme  or 
standard  conscience;  just  as  the  inspired  oracles  of  divine  wis- 
dom have  given  no  reason  for  the  divine  selection  of  themselves 
as  the  Spokesmen  of  the  Almighty.  The  character  and  conduct 
of  some  who  have  assumed  to  declare  His  alleged  will  and  wis- 
dom, imply  that  there  was  but  little  if  any  reasonable  reason 
for  their  being  selected  for  so  high  and  holy  an  office.  If  the 
advocates  of  their  doctrines,  or  of  any  specific  conscience,  at- 
tempt by  reasoning  to  convince  mankind  of  the  validity  of  such 
doctrine,  or  of  the  superiority  or  supremacy  of  any  specific  con- 
science, they  necessarily  appeal  to  the  intellectual  integrity  of 
their  proposed  proselytes.  This  intellectual  integrity  is,  accord- 
ing to  the  science  to  which  religion  and  morality  attempt  to 
cling,  wholly  fortuitous  to  the  proposed  proselytes,  is  "com- 
pletely at  the  mercy  of  the  bodily  condition,"  is  as  various  and 
and  variable  as  temperament  and  the  differences  of  the  pigment 
of  the  senses. 

I  said  above  that  the  essential  deductions  of  some  of  the 
postulates  of  science  are  to  the  effect  that  conscience  is  at  most 
only  a  refined  or  sanctimonious  selfishness.  Some  of  the  Moral 
Philosophers  are  themselves  committed  to  the  validity  of  this 
proposition.     One  of  the  most  authoritative  of  them  says,  "the 


SCIENTIFIC   ACCOUNTABILITY.  439 

moral  faculty,  considered  as  an  active  power  of  the  mind,  differs 
essentially  from  all  others  hitherto  enumerated.  The  least  vio- 
lation of  its  authority  fills  us  with  remorse.  On  the  contrary, 
the  greater  the  sacrifices  we  make  in  obedience  to  its  sugges- 
tions, the  greater  are  our  satisfaction  and  triumph."  Fear  of 
punishment  (remorse),  hope  of  reward  (satisfaction  and  tri- 
umph). The  editor  of  Stewart's  Philosophy,  from  which  the 
last  above  extract  is  taken,  refers  to  Wayland's  Elements,  the 
main  subiectof  the  present  chapter,  in  vindication  of  the  propo- 
sition. He  also  quotes  the  judgment  of  Socrates  that  the  ' '  most 
virtuous  and  just  is  also  most  happy,  and  the  wicked  and  un- 
just the  most  unhappy."  This  maybe  true  without  necessarily 
degrading  virtue  and  justice  to  a  mere  means  of  acquiring  happi- 
ness and  avoiding  unhappiness.  But  to  urge  happiness  as  an 
incentive  to  virtue  and  justice,  and  unhappiness  as  a  deterrent 
from  vice  and  injustice,  is  certainly  to  appeal  to  man's  baser  in- 
stincts, selfishness,  hope  of  reward  and  fear  of  punishment.  If 
the  supreme  authority  of  conscience  is  enforced  in  rewards  and 
punishments,  then  barkening  to  its  monitions  is  not  virtue,  but 
policy.  When  Moral  Philosophy  teaches  us  that  "the  greater 
the  sacrifices  we  make  in  obedience  to  its  suggestions,  the  greater 
are  our  satisfaction  and  triumph,"  it  teaches  or  attempts  to  teach 
us  to  drive  the  best  bargain  possible  in  the  disposition  of  our  re- 
sources. When  it  teaches  us  that  "the  least  violation  of  its 
authority  fills  us  with  remorse,"  it  teaches  or  attempts  to  teach 
us  to  shun  the  evil,  the  punishment  (remorse)  resulting  from 
such  violation — it  operates  upon  our  fears. 

Wherever  either  hope  or  fear  is  a  factor  in  a  purpose  or  a 
motive  the  individual  action  is  in  reason,  necessarily  selfish.  It 
may  not  be  impossible  to  imagine  a  man  making  a  sacrifice  for 
which  he  knows  that  no  adequate  remunerafion  of  any  kind  is 
possible,  and  strictly  speaking  no  other  can  be  a  sacrifice,  yet  I 
believe  no  one  has  ever  made  such  sacrifice.  Viewed  in  a  rea- 
sonable light  the  Christian  redemption  of  mankind  was  not  such 
a  sacrifice.  The  theory  of  it  is  that  in  divine  justice  all  men 
were  eternally  damned ;  that  one  Man  by  a  brief  but  bitter  per- 
secution and  three  days  of  death  redeemed  all  men  from  eternal 
death  and  damnation.      The  Redeemer  immediately  received 


440  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

His  reward  in  promotion  in  Heaven,  and  He  eternally  receives 
His  eternally  increasing  reward  in  the  gratitude  and  praises  of 
the  eternally  increasing  hosts  of  the  redeemed.  The  divine 
justice  requiring  the  eternal  punishment  of  all  mankind,  is  too 
easily  satisfied,  and  the  reward  for  having  satisfied  it  is  too  great, 
for  the  redemption  to  be  reasonably  regarded  as  accomplished 
by  a  sacrifice.  If  some  one  has  voluntarily  suffered  death  or 
punishment  instead  of  another,  it  has  been  because  he  felt  that 
the  death  or  punishment  of  the  other  would  be  more  grievous 
to  him  than  his  own  would  be. 

Any  attempt  to  make  either  religion  or  morality  appear  rea- 
sonable is  not  only  illogical,  it  is  irreverent.  The  highest  pos- 
sible human  conception  of  justice  cannot  begin  to  comprehend 
the  alleged  justice  of  the  eternal  damnation  of  all  mankind,  nor 
of  any  of  mankind,  decreed  before  they  were  born  for  the  alleged 
guilt  of  their  progenitors.  If  they  were  not  so  justly  damned, 
the  mind  can  conceive  of  no  reasonable  occasion  for  their  re- 
demption in  the  blood  of  innocence.  If  they  were  so  justly 
damned  the  mind  cannot  conceive  how  such  divine  justice  could 
be  satisfied  with  less  than  the  full  measure  of  pain  that  would 
be  endured  by  all  mankind  in  outer  darkness  where  there  is 
wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth  during  all  eternity.  The  mind 
cannot  conceive  how  one  Man  could  suffer  the  actual  equivalent 
of  all  this  anguish  during  a  thirty-three  years'  sojourn  upon 
earth,  even  including  three  days  of  actual  death.  Unless  the 
actual  suffering  of  the  Redeemer  during  His  earthly  sojourn  and 
death,  was  actually  equivalent  to  all  the  suffering  that  would 
be  endured  by  all  mankind  in  damnation  during  all  eternity,  the 
mind  cannot  conceive  that  divine  justice  is  yet  satisfied,  or  that 
mankind  is  yei  justly  redeemed. 

The  mind  cannot  conceive  that  the  eternal  punishment  oi 
all  mankind  was  demanded  by  divine  justice,  unless  there  was, 
actually  or  potentially  an  ascertainable  quantum  or  totality  oi 
the  suffering  to  be  endured  by  mankind  in  such  punishment, 
ascertainable  perhaps  only  by  divine  wisdom.  As  the  mind 
cannot  conceive  that  such  quantum  or  totality  of  suffering  was 
actually  endured  or  equivalented  in  the  alleged  redemption,  it 
reasonably  follows  that  it  must  regard  a  great  deal  of  it  as  not 


SCIENTIFIC    ACCOUNTABILITY.  441 

yet  endured  or  equivalented.  So  in  reason  divine  justice  is 
not  yet  satisfied  and  mani<ind  is  not  yet  redeemed.  The  un- 
endured  and  unequivalented  suffering  demanded  by  divine  jus- 
tice remains  to  be  disposed  of.  Moral  philosophers  (apologists) 
tell  us  that  the  demand  tor  this  is  cancelled  in  Mercy  and  upon 
conditions.  And  here  they  throw  every  thing  into  confusion. 
There  is  no  mercy  in  reason,  and  no  reason  in  mercy.  While 
the  proportion  of  the  actual  suffering  endured  in  the  redemp- 
tion, to  that  which  divine  justice  demanded  that  mankind  should 
endure  during  eternity  may  be  too  minute  for  expression,  yet 
there  must  be  such  a  proportion  if  there  is  a  final  quantum  or 
totality  of  each.  As  no  suffering  can  be  conceived  to  be  un- 
limited, all  suffering  must  be  conceived  as  limited  to  some 
quantum  or  totality,  which  itself  may  be  inexpressible,  unde- 
finable,  or  perhaps  unthinkable  definitely.  Now  if  Reason  had 
a  just  demand  for  the  endurance  by  all  mankind  of  eternal  suffer 
ing  in  damnation,  it  would  scarcely  cancel  its  demand  for  the 
infinitely  greater  portion  of  it,  upon  and  in  consideration  of  the 
endurance  by  an  innocent  third  person  of  the  infinitely  lesser 
portion  of  it. 

If  Reason  were,  in  mercy  and  upon  conditions,  about  to 
cancel  its  just  demand  for  the  endurance  by  mankind  of  the 
infinitely  greater  portion  of  such  suffering,  it  would  in  mercy 
have  cancelled  its  entire  demand ;  or  at  least,  it  would  not  have 
required  or  permitted  its  demand  for  the  endurance  of  the  in- 
finitely lesser  portion  of  such  suffering,  to  be  satisfied  in  the 
blood  of  an  innocent  third  person.  If  the  Redeemer  is  an  in- 
nocent third  person,  Reason  revolts  at  the  idea  of  His  suffering 
death  to  satisfy  so  small  a  portion  of  an  entire  demand,  the  in- 
finitely greater  residue  of  which  is,  in  mercy  and  upon  condi- 
tions, forgiven.  If  He  is  not  an  innocent  third  person,  but  is  a 
part  of  or  identical  with  the  original  Demandant  Himself,  Rea- 
son would  still  more  revolt  at  the  idea  of  a  Creditor  paying  him- 
self in  his  own  suffering  and  death  so  small  a  portion  of  his  just 
demand,  and  forgiving  the  infinitely  greater  residue. 

The  conditions  upon  which  the  divine  demand  for  the  en- 
durance by  mankind  during  eternity  of  the  infinitely  greater  por- 
tion of  the  suffering  is  forgiven,  are,  judging  from  the  dogmas 


442  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

and  data  of  Religion,  and  the  doctrines  of  the  science  to  whose 
skirts  religion  attempts  to  cling,  such  as  may  reasonably  be  ex- 
pected to  render  the  forgiveness  in  most  instances  unavailing. 
Not  only  is  behavior  prescribed,  but  belief  in  unreasonable 
propositions  is  enjoined.  On  pain  of  eternal  punishment  man 
must  not  only  do  as  he  is  bid,  he  must  believe  as  he  is  bid.  If 
there  is  valid  authority  for  this,  it  must  be  divine  authoritv.  If 
there  is  divine  authority  for  it,  it  has  no  affinity  for  nor  anything 
in  common  with  Reason.  It  is  as  far  above  reason  as  heaven 
is  above  earth — as  the  Almighty  is  above  man. 

No  one  can  reasonably  believe  that  he  was  justly  under  con- 
demnation witht)ut  having  voluntarilv  offended.  No  one  can 
reasonably  believe  that  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers  are  justly 
visited  upon  the  children.  No  one  can  reasonably  believe  that 
justice  demands  his  eternal  punishment  for  any  offence  what- 
ever. No  one  can  reasonably  believe  that  a  just  demand  for 
the  eternal  punishment  of  all  men  can  be  justly  satisfied  in  the 
temporary  punishment  of  one  Man.  No  one  can  reasonably 
believe  that  there  was  any  justice  in  the  divine  demand  for  his 
own  eternal  punishment,  if,  by  a  mere  change  of  opinion  as  to 
the  merit  of  a  certain  doctrine,  and  by  affecting  a  devotion  to  its 
Author,  he  can  escape  such  punishment  and  secure  eternal  happi- 
ness. That  would  be  the  cancellation  of  too  great  a  debt,  and 
giving  too  great  a  reward  to  be  reasonable. 

If  specific  belief  is  an  essential  part  of  religious  duty.  Religion 
should  cut  the  acquaintance  of  science  as  soon  as  possible. 
Science  says,  "the  secret  of  certain  aptitudes, — of  such  or  such 
a  native  predisposition,  is  naturally  derived  from  a  preponder- 
ance of  such  or  such  a  group  of  sensorial  impressions,  which 
find  in  the  regions  of  psychical  activity  in  which  they  are  par- 
ticularly elaborated  a  soil  ready  prepared,  which  amplifies  and 
perfects  them  according  to  the  richness  and  degree  of  vitality 
of  the  elements  placed  at  their  disposal."  Man's  real  belief  will 
be  just  such  as  his  aptitudes — his  native  predisposition — enable, 
compel,  or  permit  him  to  extract  from  the  data  of  his  conscious 
existence  and  the  facts  he  lives  amidst.  The  unreasonableness 
of  requiring  specific  belief  is  aggravated  in  the  manner  in  which 
the  requirement  is  generally  urged.     Without  sincerity  there  is 


SCIENTIFIC   ACCOUNTABILITY.  44  5 

no  real  belief.  A  nervous  system  constructed  on  a  certain  plan, 
and  predisposed  in  a  certain  way  by  inherited  instincts — trans- 
mitted experiences — is  susceptible  to  impressions.  The  indi- 
vidual cannot  from  among  the  infinite  externals  choose  for  him- 
self those  which  shall  be  presented  to  his  sensuous  faculty,  nor 
can  he  determine  the  impressions  they  shall  make.  "A  small 
difference  in  the  pigment  of  a  sense  "  may  determine  his  whole 
destiny,  it  "may  rule  the  entire  character — intellectual  and 
moral."  An  external  presented  to  his  sensuous  faculty  may  be 
the  argument  of  a  so-called  moral  philosopher,  the  doctrine  of 
an  alleged  religion.  He  is  placed  in  a  dilemma.  He  must 
admit  the  validity  of  the  science  which  teaches  him  that  his 
aptitudes  and  susceptibilities  are  inherited  and  hence  beyond  his 
control,  because  the  religion  which  is  after  him  claims  akin  to 
this  very  science.  Yet,  although  he  is  helpless  to  control  his 
aptitudes  and  susceptibilities,  and  cannot  determine  the  impres- 
sions to  be  made,  he  must  determine  that  the  impressions  made 
by  this  particular  external  so  presented,  shall  aggregate  in  a 
belief  in  the  validity  of  its  doctrine.  He  must  suppress  the 
aptitudes,  instincts,  and  native  predispositions  which  this  very 
religion  (by  clinging  to  the  science  which  says  so)  says  will 
rule  his  whole  destiny.  By  such  means  he  is  to  arrive  at 
belief. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

PHILOSOPHY    OF   FAUST. 

The  Tragedy  Sixty  Years  in  incubation — Tlie  Pliilosophy  Tal<es  all  Purpose  Out 
of  Religion — Nothing  can  be  Thought  as  Self- Limited — Duality  of  Man's 
Nature,  as  Incomprehensible  as  the  Trinality  of  God's  Nature — Parallel 
Between  Faust  and  Job,  Both  were  mere  Chattels — Satan  Imposed  on  in 
Both  Transactions — Divine  Jugglery — No  Possible  Occasion  for  More  than 
One  Compact  in  the  Tragedy — Faust's  Sudden  Transition  from  Philosopher 
to  Rake — No  Duty  without  Freedom — Von  ihering's  View  ot  Shylock's 
Claim — Dissimulation  is  Dishonest  in  any  Cause — ^Justice  Required  Faust  to 
Refuse  Salvation — Abstract  Principles  Cannot  be  Personified  in  Tragedy. 

The  American  Editor  of  a  Tragedy  reputed  to  be  the  "  Liter- 
ary masterpiece  of  modern  times"  declares  that  "  Faust  is  rep- 
resented as  saved  by  no  merit  of  his  own,  but  by  the  interest 
which  Heaven  has  in  every  soul  in  which  there  is  the  possibility 
of  a  heavenly  life."  That  his  Author  "had  the  penetration  to 
see  and  he  meant  to  show,  that  the  notion  implied  in  the  old 
popular  superstition  of  selling  one's  soul  to  the  Devil;  the  notion 
that  evil  can  obtain  the  entire  and  final  possession  of  the  soul  is 
a  fallacy;  that  the  soul  is  not  man's  to  dispose  of,  and  cannot 
be  so  traded  away.  We  are  the  soul's,  and  not  the  soul  ours. 
Evil  is  self-limited,  the  good  in  man  must  finally  prevail.  So 
long  as  he  strives  he  is  not  lost.  Heaven  will  come  to  the  aid 
of  his  better  nature.     This  is  the  philosophy  of  Faust." 

If  there  was  no  doubt  as  to  the  philosophic  purport  of  the 
Tragedy  these  declarations  imply  a  doubt  and  profess  to  remove 
it.  The  Editor's  name  is  decorated  with  a  D.  D.  and  he  has 
written  some  alleged  philosophy.  But  instead  of  dispelling  the 
doubt  as  to  the  philosophy  of  the  tragedy,  he  has  only  darkened 
the  doubt  as  to  his  own  conception  or  it.  A  tragedy  which 
was  sixty  years  in  process  of  incubation  cannot  be  said  to  have 
been  very  inconsiderately  dashed  off.  One  so  far  (as  Faust)  out 
of  the  usual  range  of  tragedy,  was  probably  intended  to  import 
a  moral  philosophy,  a  mild  type  of  religious  apologetics. 

If  the  philosophy  is   accurately  stated   by  the  Editor,  the  .M 

Tragedy  may  be  called  the  masterpiece  of  modern  philosophic  ^ 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    FAUST.  445 

nonsense  more  appropriately  than  the  literary  masterpiece  ot 
modern  time. 

Whatever  is  necessarily  implied  in  a  declaration,  is  as  legiti- 
mately a  part  of  it  as  if  it  were  expressed.  That  one  is  saved 
by  no  merit  of  his  own,  but  by  the  interest  which  Heaven  has 
in  every  soul  in  which  there  is  the  possibility  of  a  heavenly  life, 
implies  that  some  souls  have  not  such  possibility,  and  that  no 
man  need  concern  himself  with  his  soul's  salvation.  Man  need 
not  strive,  for  by  no  merit  of  his  own  can  he  be  saved.  His 
soul  may  be  devoid  of  the  Heavenly  possibility,  in  which  case 
he  certainly  need  not  strive.  If  it  contains  such  possibility  it 
will  be  saved  solely  by  the  interest  which  Heaven  has  in  it,  and 
strife  were  superfluous. 

That  some  souls  are  inevitably  lost,  is  implied  in  the  declara- 
tion that  some  are  saved  solely  by  the  interest  which  Heaven 
has  in  them,  by  reason  of  their  having  in  them  the  heavenly  pos- 
sibility. If  all  souls  contained  such  possibility  then  the  heavenly 
interest  in  them  would  render  salvation  absolutely  certain  and 
universal,  and  moral  philosophy,  so  far  as  promoting  the  safety 
of  souls  is  concerned,  would  be  a  superfluity.  There  could  then 
be  no  purpose  in  religion.  Genius  would  be  obliged  to  seek 
some  other  outlet  or  occasion  for  its  excrescences. 

Should  philosophy  devise  some  means  of  distinguishing 
souls  in  which  there  is,  from  souls  in  which  there  is  not  such 
possibility,  it  might  make  a  decisive,  though  melancholy  move 
toward  the  applicability  of  its  doctrine.  It  could  thus  bring 
itself  into  worse  repute  than  it  now  is,  because  those  in  whose 
souls  it  should  find  there  is  no  such  possibility  would  reject 
it,  while  it  would  enervate  those  in  whose  souls  it  should  find 
there  was  such  possibility.  Men  would  shrink  from  the  doc- 
trine which  damns  them  for  the  want  of  a  quality  which  they 
cannot  supply;  they  are  not  apt  to  strive  for  that  of  which 
Heaven  has  already  assured  them  the  realization.  Until  such 
philosophy  does  devise  some  means  of  such  distinction,  it  is 
entirely  without  meaning  to  all  men,  and  then  it  could  have  no 
other  effect  than  that  just  stated. 

If  the  soul  is  not  man's  to  dispose  of  he  cannot  possibly  lose 
it,  but  must  submit  to  salvation  from  the  interest  which  Heaven 


446  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

has  in  his  soul  if  it  is  worth  saving — he  is  equally  helpless  to 
save  it,  and  must  submit  to  perdition  from  the  absence  of  such 
interest  if  it  should  be  devoid  of  such  possibility.  The  extent 
of  his  responsibility  for  the  presence  or  absence  of  such  possi- 
bility is  not  declared;  but  the  implication  is  that  there  is  no 
such  responsibility  if  he  is  not  to  be  saved  by  any  merit  of  his 
own.  Without  responsibility  there  can  be  no  purpose  in  moral 
philosophy.  That  there  is  no  responsibility  is  implied  in  the 
declaration  that  the  soul  is  not  man's  to  dispose  of  and  cannot 
be  traded  away.  If  by  his  conduct  he  divests  his  soul  of  such 
possibility,  so  that  Heaven  loses  the  interest  in  it  to  save  it  for 
him,  he  disposes  of  his  soul,  trades  or  perhaps  throws  it  awav. 
If  all  souls  once  contain  such  possibility  and  are  not  man's  to 
dispose  of,  and  cannot  be  so  traded  away,  then  none  can  be  di- 
vested by  man  of  such  possibility;  and  salvation  without  refer- 
ence to  man's  conduct  is  absolutely  inevitable  and  universal,  and 
moral  philosophy  is  without  a  purpose.  If  some  souls  do  while 
others  never  contain  such  possibility,  then  for  reasons  above 
given  moral  philosophy  is  still  without  a  purpose,  unless  it  can 
distinguish  between  them;  in  which  case  it  would,  as  above 
shown,  become  a  sort  of  prognosticator,  ominous  and  incredible 
to  some,  and  enervating  if  believed  by  others. 

If  men  able  to  do  otherwise  should  divest  their  souls  of  such 
possibilitv,  they  would  lose  them  by  demerit  of  their  own.  If 
others  able  to  do  otherwise  should  maintain  in  their  souls  such 
possibility  they  would  save  them  by  merit  of  their  own.  If  the 
conduct  is  of  no  effect  to  destroy  or  maintain  such  possibility, 
then  moral  philosophy  is  without  meaning,  so  far  as  the  salva- 
tion of  the  soul  is  concerned.  If  the  conduct  has  effect  to  de- 
stroy or  maintain  such  possibility,  then  the  salvation  of  the  soul 
depends  upon  the  conduct,  and  man  is  saved  by  his  own  merit, 
or  damned  by  his  own  demerit.  If  with  all  the  good  one  can 
do  he  is  still  unworthy,  and  must  plead  the  pangs  of  Another 
who  has  atoned  (to  Himself)  for  him,  it  is  still  a  merit  to  avail 
himself  of  such  vicarious  atonement.  There  is  some  merit  in 
appreciation  of  and  gratitude  for  favors;  there  is  more  in  the 
disposition  to  make  them  as  available  as  possible  for  the  pur- 
poses for  which  they  may  be  bestowed.     If  one  lays  down  his 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    FAUST.  447 

life  for  the  salvation  of  all,  then  every  one  who  avails  himself  of 
the  sacrifice  cooperates  pro  taiito  in  the  promotion  of  the  gen- 
eral cause  in  which  the  sacrifice  is  made.  This  is  merit.  Every 
one  who  wilfully  renders  the  sacrifice  of  no  avail  for  himself 
obstructs  pro  tanto  the  promotion  of  the  general  cause  in  which 
the  sacrifice  is  made.     This  is  demerit. 

Philosophers  owe  it  to  their  readers  to  give  the  data  upon 
which  they  base  the  distinction  between  man  and  the  soul. 
They  speak  complacently  enough  of  them  as  distinct  entities, 
of  one  as  belonging  to  the  other.  While  they  disagree  as  to  the 
ownership,  they  mostly  agree  as  to  the  survivorship.  Demon 
may  have  been  a  name  by  which  Socrates  meant  to  figuratively 
personify  his  conscience.  Modern  investigation  implies  that 
conscience  is  a  mere  physical  condition  mechanically  caused. 
It  is  said  to  be  the  reason  employed  about  questions  of  right 
and  wrong,  and  accompanied  by  the  sentiments  of  approbation 
and  condemnation.  That  it  signifies  our  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing acted  agreeably  or  contrary  to  the  dictates  of  a  moral  faculty. 
That  moral  sensibility  is  a  purely  physiological  synthesis  of  all 
our  nervous  activities.  That  all  our  feelings  and  emotions  are 
mechanically  caused. 

That  which  from  the  earliest  history  of  philosophy  has  con- 
stantly admonished  man  what  he  ought  and  ought  not,  and  has 
been  regarded  a  distinct  entitv  with  a  mysterious  individuality  of 
its  own,  though  still  performing  the  same  function  in  the  same 
manner,  is  now  by  Science  completely  divested  of  its  demoniacal 
dignity,  and  reduced  to  a  mere  physiological  synthesis  of  our 
nervous  activities,  a  mere  physical  condition,  mechanically 
caused.  If  Science  has  wrought  this  ruin  of  the  Socratic  Demon 
which  was  never  entirely  absent  from  any  human  intelligence, 
what  may  we  not  expect  if  it  should  fairly  encounter  the  fugitive 
evanescence  called  the  soul. 

The  definitions  of  soul  are  as  dubious  and  unintelligible  as 
the  above  quoted  propositions  that  evil  is  self-limited;  that  the 
good  in  man  must  finally  prevail;  and  that  Heaven  will  come  to 
the  aid  of  his  better  nature.  No  mind  can  conceive  how  any- 
thing can  be  self-limited.  Whatever  is  thought  as  limited,  must 
be  thought  as  limited  by  something  without  and  beyond  itself. 


448  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

To  be  self-limited,  a  thing  must  be  outside  of  and  be3'ond  itself, 
it  must  be  the  thing  adjoining  and  setting  bounds  to  itself, 
which  is  absurd.  Self  imposed  limits  are  unthinkable.  The 
duality  of  man's  nature  is  implied  in  the  proposition  that  the 
good  in  him  must  finally  prevail;  also  in  the  proposition  that 
Heaven  will  come  to  the  aid  of  his  better  nature.  This  is  as 
incomprehensible  as  the  trinality  of  the  nature  or  person  of  the 
Almighty.  If  the  good  in  man  must  finally  prevail,  the  impli- 
cation is  that  it  must  prevail  over  the  bad  in  him.  Most  men 
believing  they  have  souls  in  jeopardy  would  be  glad  to  be  per- 
fectly assured  of  this.  If  the  good  in  man  must  finally  prevail, 
there  must  be  a  strife  going  on  within  him  between  the  good 
and  the  bad.  Both  then  must  be  present  within  him,  and  if 
the  good  must  finally  prevail,  the  result  is  predetermined  and 
the  strife  is  worse  than  idle. 

If  Heaven  will  come  to  the  aid  of  his  better  nature  the  impli- 
cation is  that  it  will  aid  his  better  in  a  strife  with  his  worse 
nature.  His  worse  nature  then  must  be  the  stronger  of  the  two, 
or  there  could  be  no  need  of  the  heavenly  aid.  If  man  is  of  this 
dual  nature  it  must  be  because  Heaven  has  made  him  so.  If 
the  better  needs  the  aid  of  Heaven  in  its  strife  with  the  worse 
nature,  it  must  be  because  Heaven  has  made  the  worse  the 
stronger  of  the  two  natures.  Reason  would  never  have  accused 
Heaven  of  this.  It  were  better  economy  had  Heaven  endowed 
man  solely  with  a  good  nature,  or,  if  there  could  no  good  ex- 
cept in  contrast  with  a  bad  nature,  then  to  have  made  the  good 
the  stronger.  But  moral  philosophy  finds  this  strife  raging  in 
man,  and  the  issue  is  his  soul's  salvation  or  damnation,  or  rather 
that  of  the  soul  to  which  he  belongs,  for  "  we  are  the  soul's, 
and  not  the  soul  ours."  Man  who  belongs  to  the  soul  must 
strive  to  save  his  owner,  although  it  cannot  be  saved  by  any 
merit  of  his,  and  although  the  result  is  already  determined.  The 
duty  is  imposed  in  terms  hopelessly  unintelligible,  and  analysis 
and  investigation  lead  to  palpable  absurdity. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  man  as  double.  His  tenden- 
cies may  be  various,  depending  upon  his  physical  constitution, 
his  education,  and  external  circumstances.  They  may  be  good 
or  bad,  but  not  indifferent.     Indifference  is  no  tendency.     They 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    FAUST.  449 

cannot  be  actively  both  good  and  bad ;  so  for  only  as  one  of 
two  opposite  tendencies  exceeds  the  other  can  there  be  strictly 
a  tendency.  So  far  as  they  are  equal  thev  neutralize  each  other. 
The  mind  cannot  conceive  of  tendencies,  as  such  and  so  classi- 
fied in  man,  as  to  constitute  in  him  several  distinct  entities  or 
natures.  Whatever  the  soul  may  be.  the  mind  cannot  conceive 
of  it  as  other  or  more  than  a  condition  or  state.  The  mind  can- 
not give  it  substantiality  because  it  cannot  be  located,  nor  form 
because  this  implies  substance.  Perhaps  as  intelligible  a  defi- 
nition as  can  be  given  is  to  call  it  by  another  name — mind. 
Definition  is  mainly  statement  of  synonyms.  It  is  learnedly  de- 
fined as  "the  animating,  separable,  and  surviving  entity,  the 
vehicle  of  the  individual  personal  existence;"  and  "the  spiritual, 
rational,  and  immortal  part  in  man;  that  part  which  enables 
him  to  think,  and  which  renders  him  a  subject  of  moral  govern- 
ment." These  definitions  give  little  or  no  insight  into  the 
mystery  of  the  nature  of  soul.  We  may  as  well  recur  to  the 
no-deflnition  above  given — mind ;  and  admit,  as  logically  we 
must,  that  whatever  cannot  be  known  cannot  be  very  intelli- 
gibly defined.  We  may  take  the  ground  common  to  Science 
and  most  religions,  that  soul  is  mind,  and  proceed  with  the  ex- 
amination of  the  alleged  philosophy  of  the  great  German  itera- 
tion of  the  Tragedy  of  Job. 

The  American  Editor  disclaims  for  his  Author  all  intent  "  to 
travesty  or  degrade  that  venerable  poem."  The  main  difference 
between  the  two  poems  in  one  thing  essential  to  each,  is  in  the 
anguish  endured  bv  their  respective  subjects  of  the  divino- 
diabolic  compacts,  the  ancient  and  modern  wagers  of  the 
Almighty  with  the  Devil.  Job's  pain  seems  to  have  been 
mostly  physical,  Faust's  almost  wholly  moral  or  mental.  But 
the  ruthless  ravages  of  science  have  obliterated  this  distinction. 
Wherever  a  feverish  flincy  erects  its  fantastical  fret-work, 
Science,  which  verily  goeth  about  as  a  roaring  lion,  may  be 
found  plying  its  fangs.  It  is  touching  to  behold  the  frenzy  of 
Apologetics  to  show  how  its  faith  is  authenticated,  instead  of 
shown  to  be  unreasonable  by  the  cool  and  candid  investigations 
of  science.  Religion,  to  have  any  validity  as  such  must  rise 
above  reason.     If  all  our  feelings  and  emotions  are  mechanic- 


450  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ally  caused,  then  the  so-called  moral  or  mental  pain  must  be 
mechanically  caused.  Possibly  science  itself  is  too  sweeping 
and  comprehensive  in  its  declaration  that  our  feelings  and 
emotions  are  all  mechanically  caused.  It  were  sufficient  for  it  to 
say  that  all  our  feelings  and  emotions  that  can  be  accounted  for 
are  so  caused.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  a  mechanical 
cause  can  produce  an  effect  on  any  thing  outside  the  domain 
of  physical  substance.  'If  science  is  correct  in  its  declaration, 
then  mental  and  moral  pain  are  mere  physiological  conditions 
of  nerve  substance,  because  mechanical  causes  must  operate  on 
physical  su'bstance  or  not  at  all. 

The  important  feature  of  each  piece  is  the  wager  of  Heaven 
with  Hell  upon  the  fidelity  and  fortitude  of  a  Creature,  ignorant 
of  the  fact  that  they  are  so  deeply  concerned  in  him.  But  back 
of  all  compact  and  conventional  wager  is  the  omnipotence  of 
one  of  the  parties  against  the  necessarily  limited  capacity  of  the 
other.  When  the  Lord  professed  to  give  Mephistopheles  liberty 
to  act  without  control.  He  knew  just  what  he  was  doing;  He 
was,  to  use  a  homely  expression,  betting  on  a  sure  thing. 
There  could  be  no  wager  in  it.  The  so-called  compact  had  no 
meaning.  Omnipotence  was  able  to  sustain  the  subject  of  the 
alleged  wager  against  all  the  wiles  of  the  Devil,  and  indeed  to 
prescribe  beforehand  just  what  and  how  effective  such  wiles 
should  be.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  the  Lord  and 
Mephistopheles  were  both  possessed  of  infinite  power.  Their 
respective  powers  are  supposed  to  have  been  antagonistic  to 
each  other,  and  two  such  rival  poweis  cannot  be  conceived  to 
be  both  infinite.  Then  when  the  All-wise,  inflnitelv  powerful 
and  just  God  was  professing  to  give  Mephistopheles  a  carte 
blanch.  He  knew  just  how  it  must  result  in  the  discomfiture  of 
the  Devil,  upon  whom  he  was  merely  playing  a  trick.  Reason 
would  never  have  accused  the  Lord  of  this.  Nor  would  it  ever 
have  expected  a  divine  Creator  of  M  things,  with  infinite  wis- 
dom, goodness  and  power,  to  have  to  brook  the  eternal  and 
infernal  rivalry  of  one  of  His  own  creatures  for  the  favor,  duty, 
or  allegiance  of  another  of  them. 

If  Faust  was  reallv  dear  to  the  Lord,  He  would  never  have 
entrusted  him  to  the  infinite  and  uncontrollable  power  of  a  Devil 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    FAUST.  45  I 

bent  on  effecting  his  ruin.  He  meant  to  protect  him  in  the 
emergency,  and  if  He  really  knew  that  He  could  do  so,  then  He 
never  really  entrusted  Faust  to  the  Devil  at  all ;  and  the  alleged 
compact  or  conventional  wager  was  divine  nonsense,  jugglery 
and  deceit. 

The  third  party,  the  subject  of  the  alleged  compact,  the 
modernized  and  Germanized  Job,  who  had"  Alas,  Philosophy, 
Medicine,  and  Jurisprudence  too,  and  to  his  cost,  Theology," 
the  alleged  free  agent,  siii  generis  and  siti  juris,  is,  without 
being  consulted,  made  the  subject  of  the  solemn  banter  between 
the  Lord  and  the  .Devil,  and  bartered  to  damnation  at  a  hazard 
upon  his  own  God-given  constancy.  Reason  would  never 
have  expected  either  Job  or  Faust  to  voluntarily  take  the  part 
assigned  him  in  the  terrible  farce,  merely  to  vindicate  an  idle 
boast  of  the  Almighty  of  His  creature's  fortitude  and  faith,  made 
in  ill-timed  repartee  with  the  Devil.  If  Faust  was  really  free 
he  ought  not  to  have  been  made  an  involuntary  actor  in  such  a 
tragedy.  He  should  have  been  a  party  to  the  compact  by  the 
terms  of  which  he  was  to  be  the  principal  sufferer,  and  the  re- 
sult of  which  was  to  be  either  his  soul's  salvation  or  damnation. 
And  had  he  been  consulted.  Reason  would  not  have  expected 
him  to  join  in  the  compact  without  divine  assurance  of  salva- 
tion, in  which  case,  both  he  and  the  Lord  would  have  been 
dealing  dishonestly  with  the  Devil.  If  in  such  case  there  was 
a  fair  deal  the  Devil  would  probably  have  known  there  was 
nothing  in  it  for  him,  and  Reason  would  not  have  expected  him 
to  so  sedulously  persist  in  a  hopeless  venture.  If  Faust  was  not 
free  he  ought  not  to  have  suffered  even  if  the  Devil  had  won  his 
wager  with  the  Lord,  and  if  the  Lord  were  just  with  Faust  there 
could  be  nothing  in  the  alleged  wager  for  the  Devil.  In  any 
possible  view  of  the  case  the  Lord  was  either  deceiving  the 
Devil,  or  idly  and  unjustly  exposing  his  faithful  servant  to  the 
grossest  injustice.  Either  justice  or  candor  on  the  part  of  the 
Lord  would  have  spoiled  two  great  tragedies,  but  it  might  have 
saved  some  puerile  philosophy.  To  represent  the  Almighty  as 
vaunting  Himself  and  His  work  to  the  Devil  (also  His  work)  is 
not  likely  to  inspire  sensible  men  with  much  respect  for  the 
cause  in  which  it  is  done.     I  can  almost  hear  the  enthusiast  re- 


452  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

tort  that  the  Tragedy  is  merely  symbolic,  and  that  its  personnel 
is  merely  the  ideal  personification  of  principles  in  the  divine 
economy  of  nature.  So  much  the  worse  for  its  philosophy. 
The  reviewer  in  examining  the  principles  of  such  philosophy 
may,  for  the  purpose  of  such  examination,  treat  these  personifi- 
cations with  the  same  deference  to  their  suppositious  individu- 
ality, as  the  philosopher  has  himself  treated  them  in  propounding 
his  alleged  philosophy.  If  abstract  principles  of  good,  justice, 
utility,  and  economy  are  personilied  or  ideally  represented  in 
the  personnel,  and  ideally  applied  in  the  scenes  of  the  tragedy, 
and  ideally  vindicated  in  its  denouement,  then  its  alleged  phi- 
losophy is  propounded  and  symbolicallv  worked  out  to  its  phi- 
losophical results  in  the  supposed  vindication  of  its  philosophical 
tenets,  in  testing  the  validity  of  its  doctrine  one  must  treat  all 
these  paraphernalia  of  its  presentation  as  the  Philosopher  has 
himself  treated  them,  so  far  at  least  as  concerns  their  puppetry 
in  the  play.  If  the  ancient  Faust  legend  was  preposterous,  the 
modern  Faust  philosophy  is  puerile. 
^  Passing  the   incongruous   mix   of  the   inferno-supernatural 

with  the  rustico-real,  the  philosophic  colloquy  of  the  Doctor 
and  his  companion  on  their  morning  walk,  the  homage  done  him 
by  his  fellow  villagers  as  he  passed  them  at  their  Easter  festiv- 
ities, the  black  hound  circling  him  in  ever  narrowing  spiral 
curves  as  he  sat  conversing  with  his  companion  and  following 
him  home  at  evening,  there  assuming  the  human  form  divine 
and  calling  the  mice  to  gnaw  the  threshold  which  mysticallv 
detained  him,  and  other  maudlin  mysticism;  we  come  to  the 
compact  between  Mephistopheles  and  Faust.  Here  the  enthus- 
iast will  triumphantly  exclaim  Faust  is  free.  Disgruntled  with 
himself  and  all  nature,  he  voluntarily  engages  with  the  Devil  to 
depart  to  the  Abvss,  that  time  mav  be  never  more  for  him,  if 
Mephistopheles  will  ever  bring  him  to  a  moment  of  life  to  which 
he  would  say,  "linger  a  while,  so  fair  thou  art."  But  pause  a 
moment.  If  this  were  reallv  Faust's  compact  with  Hell,  why 
was  Mephistopheles  so  recently  in  Heaven  negotiating  the  same 
wager  with  the  Lord  }  One  of  two  things  is  inevitable.  If 
Faust  was  free  and  this  was  really  his  compact  or  wager  with 
Hell,  then  the  infmite  wisdom  and  power  of  the  Lord  was  in- 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    FAUST.  453 

finite  ignorance  and  weakness,  and  He  was  infinitely  vain  in 
pretending  in  the  prologue  in  Heaven  to  give  Mephistopheles  the 
privilege  to  lackey  the  Doctor  through  life  for  the  desperate 
chance  of  winning  him  to  Hell  at  death.  If  the  compact  with 
the  Lord  was  effective,  there  could  be  no  possible  occasion  for 
the  one  with  Faust.  He  was  not  free  either  to  make  or  refuse 
to  make  it.  He  was  a  mere  chattel,  and  for  all  the  purposes  of 
the  tragedy,  he  had  passed  as  by  a  bill  of  sale,  to  the  control  of 
Mephistopheles  by  virtue  of  the  compact  consummated  in  the 
prologue  in  Heaven.  Mephistopheles  was  to  gently  lead  him 
as  he  chose;  for  so  long  as  Man  on  earth  doth  live,  so  long  it 
was  not  forbidden,  "man still  must  err,  while  he  doth  strive." 
So  the  Doctor's  compact  with  the  Devil  frills  far  short  of  show- 
ing his  free  agency.  If  he  must  err  he  is  not  free  to  do  right; 
and  his  alleged  compact  was  an  idle  ceremony. 

It  is  strange  that  a  doctor  whose  life  was  a  devotion  to 
celibacy  and  science,  who  was  always  immured  in  his  den  of 
dust  and  demonology,  who  barely  deigned  to  receive  the 
homage  of  his  fellow  villagers  as  he  passed  them  at  their  Easter 
festivities,  who  worshipped  only  at  the  shrines  of  philosophy, 
magic,  and  mysticism,  should  so  suddenly  become  enamored 
of  a  rustic  Gretchen,  so  insanely  infatuated  that  he  was  ready 
to  damn  her  soul  and  be  whisked  away  to  Hell  if  he  could  only 
enjov  her.  Notwithstanding  his  philosophy,  medicine,  juris- 
prudence and  theology,  his  change  from  the  erudite  eremite  to 
the  lascivious  rake  was  as  sudden  and  extreme  as  that  of  Mephis- 
topheles from  the  black  hound  to  the  travelling  scholar  when 
Faust  inadvertently  attempted  to  read  from  the  Gospel  accord- 
ing to  St.  John.  The  Editor  seems  to  be  somewhat  mixed  in 
his  chronology.  He  says  that  by  the  compact  between  Faust 
and  Mephistopheles,  Faust  was  not  to  read  from  that  Gospel, 
"hence  the  uneasiness  of  the  dog."  But  the  compact  was  not 
made  until  some  time  after  this  uneasiness.  Faust's  first  inter- 
view with  Mephistopheles  as  Mephistopheles  was  after  having 
scolded  him  as  a  dog  for  barking  at  his  reading  from  that  Gos- 
pel. And  notwithstanding  Mephistopheles  has  engaged  to 
attend  Faust  through  life  and  do  his  bidding  in  all  things,  for  a 
return  of  the  service  in  kind  afterward  (Yonder),  there  are  few 


454  ETHICS  OF    LITERATURE. 

scenes  where  they  figure  in  the  Tragedy  in  which  Mephisto- 
pheles  is  not  the  master.  Wl^ile  doing  Faust's  bidding  he 
ahnost  invariably  determines  for  him  what  the  bidding  shall  be. 

The  tragedy  is  full  of  surprises  and  ever  varying  scene  and 
sentiment.  The  Doctor  had  inherited  from  his  sire  '"of  good 
repute  and  sombre  mind."  who  "loved  to  brood  o'er  nature's 
powers,"  a  fiery  passion  for  knowledge.  Because  he  could  not 
comprehend  all  wisdom,  art  being  long  and  life  short,  he  seems 
to  have  fancied  himself  scorned  by  the  great  spirit,  his  web  of 
thought  was  rent,  and  because  he  fancied  the  Lord  knew  more* 
than  it  was  within  his  power  to  learn,  his  thwarted  ambition 
spurred  him  to  the  very  unphilosophical  determination  to  be 
revenged  on — himself.  He  proposed  to  still  his  fiery  passion 
"in  depths  of  sensual  pleasure  drowned."  Mephistopheles  pio- 
poses  to  help  him  get  even  with  himself.  Henceforth  he  spurns 
wisdom  and  joy,  craves  excitement,  "agonizing  bliss,  enam- 
ored hatred,  quickening  vexation."  Even  his  infernal  coadju- 
tor is  more  conservative  and  rebukes  his  silly  resolv'e  to  be 
avenged  on  himself,  by  assuring  him  that  no  mortal  "digests 
this  ancient  leaven,"  and  that  consummate  wisdom  "Doth  for 
the  Deity  alone  subsist." 

It  were  idle  to  trace  the  tragedy  through  all  its  scenes,  to 
point  out  the  occasional  palpable  hits  and  covert  thrust  at  am- 
bitious mediocrity,  or  even  to  allude  to  many  of  its  allusions 
which  can  have  only  a  provincial  significance.  It  sufficiently 
destroys  all  claim  of  philosophic  merit  in  the  tragedy,  to  show 
that  //  shoivs  that  man  is  not  free.  Without  freedom  duty  is 
void.  Moral  philosophy,  propounded  either  in  a  poem  or  a 
sermon,  is  utterly  senseless  unless  it  tends  to  enforce  a  duty. 
If  the  Lord  had  never  negotiated  with  Mephistopheles  at  all. 
and  if  the  compact  between  the  latter  and  Faust  was  the  only 
one  in  force,  Faust  was  still  a  mere  chattel.  He  had  in  good 
faith  agreed  as  solemnly  as  he  could  to  swap  work  with  Hell. 
He  received  the  full  measure  of  the  consideration  for  which  he 
stipulated,  and  was  divinely  prevented  from  performing  his 
part.  'VA^'hen  the  three  most  important  characters  represented 
in  the  tragedy  are  candidly  examined,  it  will  appear  that  with 
all  the  devilish  dissimulation    and    polite   hatred   of  Mephisto- 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    FAUST.  455 

pheles,  he  came  nearer  doing  as  he  had  agreed  than  either  the 
Lord  or  the  disgruntled  Doctor.  The  Lord  deliberately  deceiv- 
ed the  Devil  from  the  start;  the  Doctor,  having  reached  a  mo- 
ment of  fancied  happiness,  expired  and  was  mechanically  pro- 
ceeding to  perform  his  part  of  the  compact.  But  he  was  inter- 
cepted and  thwarted  by  the  Lord's  Angels  who  justify  their  in- 
terference in  the  claim  that  Faust  was  in  bad  faith  with  the 
Devil.  They  sing,  "This  member  of  the  upper  spheres,  We 
rescue  from  the  Devil,  For  whoso  strives  and  perseveres,  May 
be  redeemed  from  evil."  Had  Faust  been  free,  and  honest  in 
his  dealings  with  the  Devil,  he  would  not  have  striven,  and  the 
Lord  would  not  have  had  even  that  flimsy  pretext  for  interfer- 
ing. 

An  Austrian,  Dr.  Rudolph  von  Ihering,  declares  that  Shy- 
lock  was  unjustly  dealt  with  by  the  Venetian  Court.  He  cer- 
tainly shows  that  he  was  deprived  of  a  legal  demand,  by  the 
chicanery  of  a  Tribunal  whose  solemn  judicial  duty  it  was  to 
enforce  it.  In  the  interest  of  humanity  and  before  the  foot- 
lights the  end  may  be  sometimes  made  to  appear  to  justify  the 
means.  Philosophy,  however,  is  not  supposed  to  be  concern- 
ed with  exceptional  emergencies,  nor  can  it  adapt  itself  to  vary- 
ing emotions  or  pathetic  situations.  It  supposes  and  deals  with 
principles,  and  dissimulation  is  no  less  dishonest  because  prac- 
ticed against  a  Shylock  or  the  Devil.  Apologetics  drives  the 
Lord  to  great  straits  when  it  compels  Him  to  resort  to  subter- 
fuge. It  seems  really  to  recognize  the  existence  and  persistence 
of  two  opposing  principles,  the  good  and  the  evil.  It  vainly 
attempts  to  personify  them  in  its  God  and  Devil.  It  degrades 
its  God  to  the  level  of  its  Devil  in  putting  its  divine  comedy 
upon  the  boards ;  and  it  exalts  its  Devil  to  the  altitude  of  its 
God  in  the  negotiations  under  which  the  various  parts  are 
assigned  to  the  several  actors;  and  even  above  its  God  in  point 
of  sincerity  of  purpose  in  the  compact.  It  is  ruinous  to  permit 
the  negotiations  in  the  first  place.  It  brings  the  Lord  into  bad 
repute  to  be  trafficking  with  the  Devil  concerning  so  precious  a 
property  as  the  soul  of  man.  If  the  soul  of  man  is  so  valuable 
to  the  Lord  that  He  would  give  His  only  begotten  Son  a  sacri- 
fice to  redeem  it  from  His  own  just  wrath,  He  ought  to  make 


4=)6  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

no  terms  with  Hell  concerning  it.  He  certainly  ought  not  to 
offer  to  gamble  it  away  to  the  Devil  when  He  is  obliged  to 
cheat  him  at  the  game  or  lose  the  soul  so  redeemed  and 
wagered. 

Philosophy  may  don  the  majestic  mantle  of  the  Muse,  or  peal 
forth  in  the  detonations  of  Tragedie"s  Artillery,  but  it  is  not 
likely  to  do  so — it  seldom  does  so.  Poetic  imagery  is  generally 
too  sentimental  for  cold  blooded  reasoning.  The  affectation 
and  insincerity  manifest  in  most  tragedy  are  not  congenial  to 
philosophy.  The  relations  of  the  actors  to  each  other  and  to 
the  scenes  in  which  they  figure,  and  the  general  variety,  to  say 
nothing  of  contrariety,  requisite  to  engage  attention  and  provoke 
pathos,  jar  with  the  symmetrical  arrangement  of  data  and  sober 
and  sensible  deductions  of  philosophy.  Some  of  the  beauties 
of  poetry  in  Faust  are  peerless.  The  grandeur  of  some  of  the 
thought  is  sublime.  There  are  occasional  expressions  of  sound 
philosophic  doctrine.  These  are  all  badly  disjointed.  The 
tragedy  is  a  wild  and  weird  extravaganza,  which,  proposing  to 
demonstrate  that  "mortal  that  perishes  types  the  ideal,"  be- 
comes entirely  too  reckless  of  the  consequences  of  many  of  its 
own  unqualified  postulates  and  primary  positions  to  be  the  sym- 
metrical embodiment  or  faithful  expression  of  anything  like  a 
philosophic  whole.  When  Faust  curses  Mephistopheles  for  in- 
stigating him  to  the  ruin  of  Margaret,  he  should  remember  that 
as  a  free  agent  he  had  recently  contracted  to  be  "gently 
led"  by  his  illustrious  convoy;  and  in  the  exercise  of  his  own 
unbiased  judgment  and  ^lesthetical,  not  to  say  philosophical 
taste,  had  deliberately  yet  passionately  sought  the  gratification 
of  his  lust,  the  acme  of  his  aspirations  in  which  he  seemed 
then  to  think"  he  was  too  terribly  near.  The  scene  is  touch- 
ing— tragic,  but  utterly  devoid  of  semblance  and  relation  to  any 
thing  philosophic.  To  say  that  notwithstanding  the  excesses 
to  which  he  had  given  himself  there  yet  lurked  within  him  a 
vestige  of  the  principle  of  justice,  or  a  trace  of  goodness,  or  a 
spark  of  morality  which  could  be  fonned  to  a  flame  or  religious 
fervor,  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  If  true  it  is  so  much  the  worse 
for  the  alleged  philosophy.  It  only  shows  the  folly  of  attempt- 
ing to  personify  abstract  principles.     Under  his  contract  with 


PHILOSOPHY   OF    FAUST.  457 

Mephlstopheles,  justice  required  him  to  go  straight  to  his  own 
perdition.  He  had  said  Mephistopheles  should  have  him  the 
moment  he  found  joy.  He  had  required  Mephistopheles  to  pro- 
cure for  him  the  person  of  the  peasant  girl  declaring  it  would  be 
his  joy.  Still,  justice  forbid  him  to  ruin  Margaret  to  compass 
his  infernal  aim.     The  discord  is  too  distracting  for  Philosophy. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

COMPARATIVE  APOLOGETICS. 
Comparison  of  Christianity  and  Buddhism  Implies' Belief  in  Both- — Validity  in- 
correctly Based  on  Popularity — Superiority  of  Buddhism  Implied  in  ihe 
Argument — Both  Systems  Based  on  Idea  of  Universal  Brotherhood  of  Man 
— The  Divine  Economy  Exhibited  in  Each  System — But  one  True  Religion 
Possible — Incongruity  of  Principles  Maintained  as  Essential  to  Each  System 
— Apologetics  Puts  the  Almighty  in  the  Wrong — False-worship  an  impossi- 
bility— Absurdity  of  Illustration  of  Moral  Principles  in  Physical  Phenomena 
— No  one  ever  Knew  What  he  Believed  in  as  a  Religion — Theology  Cannot 
be  Presented  in  Philosophic  Form. 

"  God  will  roll  up,  when  this  world's  end  approacheth, 
The  broad  blue  spangled  hangings  of  the  sky, 
Even  as  As-Sigill  rolleth  up  his  record, 
And  seals  and  binds  it  when  a  man  doth  die. 
Then  the  false  worshippers  and  what  they  follow, 
Will  to  the  pit,  like  stones  to  hell  descend, 
But  true  believers  shall  hear  the  Angels  saying, 
This  is  your  day;  be  joyous  without  end." 

The  Author  of  the  above  quoted  anathema  has  saici  that 
four  hundred  and  seventy  millions  of  our  race  live  and  die  in 
the  tenets  of  Gautama;  and  the  spiritual  dominions  of  this 
ancient  teacher  extend  at  the  present  time  from  Nepaul  and 
Ceylon  over  the  whole  Eastern  Peninsula  to  China,  Japan, 
Thibbet,  Central  Asia,  Siberia,  and  even  Swedish  Lapland. 
India  itself  might  fairly  be  included  in  this  magnificent  empire 
of  belief,  for  though  the  profession  of  Buddhism  has  for  the 
most  part  passed  away  from  the  land  of  its  birth,  the  mark  of 
Gautama's  sublime  teaching  is  stamped  ineffaceably  upon 
Modern  Brahmanism.  and  the  most  characteristic  habits  and 
convictions  of  the  Hindus  are  clearly  due  to  the  benign  influence 
of  Buddha's  precepts.  More  than  a  third  of  mankind  there- 
fore owe  their  moral  and  religious  ideas  to  this  illustrious  prince, 
whose  personality,  though  imperfectly  revealed  in  the  existing 
sources  of  information,  cannot  but  appear  the  highest,  gentlest, 
and  most  beneficent,  with  one  exception,  in  the  history  of 
thouffht. " 


i 


COMPARATIVE    APOLOGETICS.  4S9 

The  identity  of  the  Exception  need  not  puzzle  the  thoughtful 
reader.  The  Founder  of  Christianity  receives  many  graceful, 
though  casual  and  covert  compliments  from  the  scholarly,  paid 
as  a  matter  of  course  in  dealing  ostensiblv  with  some  other  sub- 
ject. But  the  philosophic  Apologist  ought  to  be  on  his  guard; 
and  in  this  instance,  in  mr.king  the  exception  he  has  made  a 
comparison  very  much  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  Founder  of 
the  system  in  whose  favor  he  allows  the  exception.  True,  he 
tacitly  asserts  that  the  Founder  of  Christianity  is  the  only  One 
whose  personality  can  appear  so  high,  gentle,  and  beneficent 
as  that  of  Buddha.  This  implies  a  belief  in  both,  and  the  matter 
of  course  manner  in  which  the  exception  is  alloA^ed  also  implies 
a  preference  for  the  Founder  of  Christianity,  although  numeric- 
ally the  comparison  is  decidedly  unfavorable  to  the  system. 
And  as  number  is  the  Apologist's  main  argument  for  the  pro- 
visional validity  of  Buddhism,  it  would  seem  that  the  exception 
he  allows  in  favor  of  the  Founder  of  Christianity  was  not  in- 
tended to  be  also  applied  to  the  system  itself. 

No  one  will  claim  that  a  third  of  mankind  owe  their  moral 
and  religious  ideas  to  the  Founder  of  Christianity;  and  no  one 
can  claim  that  any  part  of  mankind  is  without  such  ideas.  No 
language  or  system  of  thought  can  be  intelligible  or  of  any  prac- 
tical utility  without  the  word  ought.  No  matter  how  variously 
it  may  be  interpreted,  or  how  violently  it  may  be  wrested  from 
its  meaning  in  the  sophistry  of  isms,  it  still  embodies  all  there 
can  possibly  be  for  anv  human  mind  in  any  religion. 

Though  like  Buddhism,  Christianity  has  passed  away  from 
from  the  land  of  its  birth,  yet  unlike  Buddhism,  the  mark  of  its 
Founder's  sublime  teaching  is  //o/  ineffaceably  stamped  upon  the 
modern  usurper  of  its  ancient  demense;  and  the  most  character- 
istic habits  and  convictions  of  the  modern  Mongrels  of  Palestine 
are  not  clearly  due  to  the  benign  intluence  of  the  precepts  of  its 
Founder.  So,  in'addition  to  its  numerical  supremacy.  Buddhism 
seems  to  have  another  advantage  in  the  comparison,  that  of 
more  ineffaceably  impressing  itself  upon  the  autochthones  of  its 
birth  place.  Number  and  durability  would  not  be  relied  on  for 
the  validity  of  Buddhism  unless  they  were  regarded  as  of  some 
consequence  in  the  comparison,  and  if  they  are  of  such    conse- 


460  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

quence,  then  Buddhism  is  indeed  a  far  more  magnificent  empire 
of  belief  than  Christianity. 

With  our  characteristic  bigoted  zeal  we  may  maintain  that 
our  moral  and  religious  ideas  are  superior  to  those  that  have  en- 
lightened many  millions  more  than  our  number,  from  centuries 
before  the  Source  of  ours  was  ever  heard  of;  but  so  far  from 
settling  anything  besides  our  own  complacent  self-conceit,  this 
simply  conducts  us  to  a  dispute  as  to  the  proper  meaning  and 
application  of  the  term  superior.  Unless  there  is  some  tangible 
f^ict,  back  of  which  no  mind  can  go,  and  from  which  the  superi- 
ority of  one  of  the  systems  can  by  some  means  be  demonstrated 
to  all  minds,  the  question  must  forever  remain  a  question,  with 
merely  a  higher  degree  of  probability  in  f^wor  of  the  system 
which  fluctuates  the  least,  endures  the  most  durably,  and  sways 
the  most  minds.  The  Apologist  who  would  say — sways  the 
best  minds — should  inform  us  by  whose  standard  the  test  is  to 
be  made. 

The  systems  being  compared  both  seem  to  be  based  upon 
the  idea  of  a  universal  brotherhood  among  men,  and  one  divine 
fatherhood  of  all  men.  Neither  of  them  would  restrict  itself  to 
any  part  of  the  human  fiimily,  nor  admit  that  it  was  divinely  in- 
tended for  less  than  the  entire  moral  vineyard.  Yet  neither  of 
them  flourishes  where  it  was  first  planted.  Both  are  trans- 
planted to  other  climes,  perhaps  more  inhospitable;  and  dwarfed 
almost  beyond  recognition,  perhaps  in  more  sterile  soils.  They 
have  produced  various  hybrids  from  indiscriminate  crosses,  and 
endless  variety  by  degeneration.  Each  claims  it  was  intended 
to  bring  all  men  to  one  God,  and  neither  will  allow  any  man  to 
approach  Him  except  through  its  own  portals.  In  twenty-five 
centuries  one  of  them  has  gathered  something  more  than  a  third 
of  mankind  in  its  folds;  in  nineteen  centuries  the  other  one  has 
embraced  something  less  than  a  third.  For  some  cause  unin- 
telligible to  any  human  mind,  the  remaining  third  is  still  adrift 
upon  the  watery  waste  of  aimless  existence,  variously,  vainly, 
vegetating  and  vanishing. 

The  Apologist's  comparison  implies  a  difference  between 
these  two  systems,  and  there  must  be  a  difference  or  there 
would  be  but  one  system.     Difference  between  two  systems, 


COMPARATIVE    APOLOGETICS.  46  I 

each  purporting  to  be  the  only  true  religion  of  one  God,  neces- 
sitates the  invalidity,  at  least  the  inferiority  of  one  of  them.  If 
one  of  them  has  prevailed  six  centuries  longer  than  the 
other,  and  still  maintains  a  vast  numerical  supremacy  over  it; 
and  if  each  retains  enough  of  its  primitive  characteristics  to  mark 
its  origin,  the  comparison  sounds  decidedly  in  favor  of  the  older 
one.  To  say  that  race  and  clime  were  potent  to  promote  or 
retard  the  extension  and  intluence  of  either  system,  is  to  declare 
its  invalidity  as  a  religion  for  a  universal  brotherhood  of  man- 
kind; and  limits  the  power  and  wisdom  of  its  Founder.  That 
which  is  divinely  intended  for  all  men,  is  so  intended  by  One 
who  knows  and  intends  the  supervening  influences  and  effects 
of  race  and  clime.  The  orthodox  fire  and  brimstone  of  either 
system  is  probably  hot  enough  to  obliterate  all  memory  of  the 
difference  between  an  arctic  and  a  tropic  temperature. 

If  mankind  is  a  universal  brotherhood,  it  is  strange  the  Cre- 
ator did  not  so  endow  him  that  he  not  only  might  have  had, 
but  would  naturally  tend  to  one  universal  belief.  It  is  strange 
that  in  shedding  His  light  upon  the  gloom  of  man's  existence. 
He  would  focus  its  rays  upon  a  meagre  mob  of  incredulous  and 
ungrateful  wretches  who  gloried  in  the  sin  of  ingratitude,  and 
reviled  and  murdered  their  own  greatest  Benefactor. 

In  the  history  of  thought  the  Apologist's  ideal  universality 
is  sadly  wanting.  Yet  it  is  the  essential  basis  of  all  philosophic 
apologetics.  No  true  religion  can  tolerate  any  other  religion 
than  itself.  Any  variation  from  it  throws  everything  into  con- 
fusion. If  there  is  but  one  God,  if  all  men  are  brothers  and  His 
creatures,  if  there  is  one  universal  heaven  for  the  saved  and  but 
one  hell  for  the  damned,  there  can  be  but  one  true  religion. 
Whatever  religion  differs  from  it  is  necessarily  so  far  another, 
and  hence  untrue  and  invalid  religion.  In  religious  systems 
difference  is  in  kind,  and  difference  in  degree  is  inadmissible. 
Kinds  of  doctrine  are  supposable  enough,  intensity  of  doctrine 
means  nothing. 

When  the  philosophic  Apologist  portrays  the  beauties  of 
Buddhism,  and  performs  his  coup  de  maitre  for  Christianity  in 
casually  conceding  its,  superiority,  he  simply  advocates  Christi- 
anity as  being  one  remove  farther  from   perdition  or  nearer  to 


462  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

grace  than  its  more  ancient  and  more  popular  rival.  And  when 
Apologetics  urges  the  validity  of  Buddhism  on  the  grounds  of 
its  greater  antiquity  and  popularity,  it  concedes  away  all  its 
claim,  on  its  own  hypotheses,  for  the  validity  of  Christianity. 
If  the  fact  that  for  so  long  more  than  a  third  of  mankind  have 
believed  in  Buddhism,  is  a/iv  argument  for  its  validity,  it  must 
be  the  only  true  religion,  and  its  more  recent  and  less  popular 
rival  must  be  an  imposture. 

According  to  the  Apologist,  without  Christianity,  Buddhism 
must  save  the  world,  or  it  would  "to  the  pit.  like  stones  to 
hell  descend."  For  six  centuries  before  Christianitv  appeared, 
countless  millions  of  this  universal  brotherhood  were  dependent 
upon  the  light  of  Buddhism ;  nineteen  centuries  later  more  than 
a  third  of  mankind  still  "daily  repeat  the  formula — 1  take  refuge 
in  Buddha." 

Both  these  systems  are  driven  Irom  the  land  of  their  birth, 
if  the  subject  is  legitimately  within  the  range  of  philosophic 
discussion,  some  learned  Apologist  should  explain  the  principle 
of  divine  economy  upon  which  Brahmanism  now  drowns  its 
victims  in  the  Ganges,  and  the  mosque  of  Omar  rears  its  min- 
arets above  the  site  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

It  is  difficult  to  reconcile  the  reputed  benevolence  and  mercy 
of  either  system  with  the  fact  that  its  Founder,  not  only  for  six 
centuries  left  a  lost  world  to  depend  upon  Buddhism,  if  it  was 
inferior  to  His  other  and  later  system;  but  had  for  countless 
centuries  theretofore  left  the  same  lost  world  to  wag  without 
even  a  Buddhism.  That  either  system  began  in  time  renders 
it  impossible  to  imagine  that  it  is  of  divine  origin,  that  is  in  any 
other  sense  than  as  human  institutions  may  approach  the  con- 
ceptions which  some  minds  have  formed  of  the  divine.  No 
one  can  imagine  the  commencement  of  the  existence  of  matter. 
Nor  can  one  imagine  the  commencement  of  the  organization  of 
matter  into  forms  of  life,  vegetal  and  animal.  Much  less  can 
one  imagine  the  commencement,  foundation,  or  establishment 
of  the  principles  of  life,  either  material  or  spiritual.  If  one  of 
these  systems  is  invalid,  or  inferior  to  the  other,  it  must  neces- 
sarily have  never  been  otherwise,  unless  both  are  changeable; 
and.no  one  can  imagine  the  eternal  principles  of  a  divine  relig- 


COMPARATIVE  APOLOGETICS.  463 

ion  of  the  one  and  only  God,  as  subject  to  change.  The  valid 
religion  must  be  of  the  one  God,  the  Law  of  the  one  Element, 
positive,  exclusive,  conclusive  and  eternal.  Whatever  begins 
in  time  must  end  in  time.  If  God  is  love  and  mercy  to-day, 
He  must  have  always  been  love  and  mercy.  In  such  case  it  is 
diftkult  to  conceive  of  the  awakening  of  His  compassion  for 
fallen  man,  only  after  millions  of  millions  had  been  hopelessly 
lost  for  the  want  of  one  of  these  two  systems. 

The  valid  religion  can  brook  no  comparisons,  because  it 
cannot  recognize  the  possibility  of  another  religion.  Were 
comparisons  admissible.  Buddhism  might  have  been  provision- 
ally valid,  a  convenient  makeshift  or  expedient,  resorted  to  for 
a  time  and  in  an  emergency;  while  Christianity  was  in  course 
of  preparation.  But  the  mind  cannot  conceive  of  infinite 
Power  and  Wisdom  as  resorting  to  expedients  in  emergencies. 
Neither  can  it  conceive  of  divine  Power  and  Wisdom  as  pro- 
mulgating new  doctrines,  based  on  new  principles,  at  intervals 
of  a  few  centuries,  if  they  are  eternal.  If  they  are  not  eternal, 
they  must  be  temporary;  and  the  mind  cannot  conceive  of  in- 
finite Power  and  Wisdom  as  solemnly  trifling  with  baubles 
that  flit  with  the  flight  of  time.  If  either  of  these  systems  is  of 
divine  origin,  and  was  inaugurated  in  divine  mercy  for  the 
salvation  of  an  otherwise  lost  race,  the  mind  cannot  conceive 
why  it  was  not  done  soon  enough  to  have  saved  the  innumer- 
able millions  that  must  have  perished  before  it  was  inaugurat- 
ed. They  must  have  perished  if  either  of  these  systems  was 
necessary  to  their  salvation.  And  if  neither  was  necessary  to 
salvation  mankind  has  been  terribly  badgered  with  needless 
remedies. 

The  philosophy  or  rather  the  logic  of  all  apologetics,  puts 
the  Almighty  in  the  wrong.  If  man  is  the  creature  of  a  Power 
infinitely  above  him  and  beyond  his  power  to  comprehend;  if 
he  was  by  that  Power  created  in  a  certain  fashion  and  endowed 
or  cursed  with  certain  tendencies;  if  the  result  of  yielding  to 
such  tendencies  was  necessarily  man's  damnation  and  he  was 
not  at  the  same  time  endowed  with  sufficient  strength  to 
withstand,  there  was  but  little  mercy  manifest  in  his  making. 
If  he  had  the  necessary  strength,  but  was  evilly  disposed,  he 


464  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

obtained  his  disposition  from  the  same  source  as  his  strength, 
and  there  was  still  but  little  mercy  manifest  in  his  mankind,  it 
in  such  state  millions  of  millions  were  necessarily  damned, 
and  it  became  necessary  to  inaugurate  a  divine  system  by  means 
of  which  some  might  be  saved,  the  mind  cannot  conceive  that 
to  have  been  divine  wisdom  that  could  not  sooner  have  seen 
the  necessity  of  the  system ;  nor  that  to  have  been  divine  power 
that  could  not  sooner  have  inaugurated  it;  nor  that  to  have  been 
divine  mercy  that  would  not  sooner  have  done  so.  Neither 
can  the  mind  conceive  that  to  have  been  divine  mercy  that 
limited  the  application  and  effect  of  such  system  either  numeric- 
ally or  territorially.  To  say  that  all  may  be  saved  by  means  of 
either  system  is  to  no  purpose,  for  all  have  not  yet  heard  of 
either  system.  To  say  that  all  who  have  heard  of  either  system 
may  be  saved  by  means  of  it  if  they  choose,  is  to  no  purpose, 
for  many  are  divinely  endowed  with  incredulity  and  mental  and 
moral  depravity,  if  any  who  knew  of  neither  of  these  systems 
have  been  saved,  then  neither  of  them  was  necessary  to  man's 
salvation. 

To  hold  that  one  of  these  systems  is  a  mere  improvement 
on  the  other,  is  to  hold  that  the  divine  and  eternal  power  and 
wisdom  of  the  Almighty  are  in  process  of  development.  If  He 
is  infinitely  good,  He  gave  us  the  best  He  could  twenty-five 
hundred  years  ago;  and  if  Christianity  is  better  than  Buddhism, 
it  is  because  in  the  development  of  His  power  and  wisdom  He 
was  able  to  give  us  something  better  six  hundred  years  later. 
Then  if  the  rhythmic  continuity  of  Progress  has  not  improved 
on  Christianity  in  Moslemism  or  some  other  ism,  it  may  yet  be 
expected  to  do  so.  It  maybe  looked  to  for  something  in  keep- 
ing with  the  fastidious  and  exacting  spirit  of  the  progressive  age ; 
and  in  proportion  with  the  intervals  it  must  excel  Christianity 
far  more  than  Christianity  excels  Buddhism.  Instead  of  perm- 
anent system  based  on  fixed  principles,  we  have  temporary  ex- 
pedients on  wheels. 

There  prevails  a  tendency  to  keep  Christianity  itself  abreast 
with  the  times,  by  working  it  over  within  itself  to  fit  with  physi- 
cal sciences;  and  the  deepest  solicitude  of  Apologists  is  apparent 
in  their  frenzy  for  analogies.    They  are  rapidly  remodelling  Chris- 


COMPARATIVE  APOLOGETICS.  463 

tianity  to  supply  the  want  of  an  ism  to  dovetail  with  Science, 
and  to  take  possession  of  the  more  enlightened  minds  of  men. 

The  combination  in  either  system  of  Love,  Law,  and  Re- 
venge, can  never  be  made  intelligible.  The  spiritual  cannot 
be  so  materialized  as  to  present  an  array  of  consequences, 
based  upon  physical  principles. of  cause  and  effect.  Mercy  and 
Love  have  no  affinity  for,  and  indeed  nothing  in  common  with, 
any  fixed  principle  of  physical  law.  The  mind  cannot  compre- 
hend the  love  that  prompted  the  Founder  of  either  system  to 
endure  unprecedented  privation  for  a  stranger  race  of  respons- 
ible beings,  who  had  deliberately  estranged  themselves  from  their 
universal  Father.  They  must  have  been  responsible  to  be  at 
fault,  and  must  have  deliberately  estranged  themselves.  But 
for  the  intervention  they  were  lost,  or  there  could  be  no  occas- 
ion for  the  intervention.  The  mind  cannot  conceive  the  heart 
that  yearns  with  such  love,  as  also  burning  with  the  hate  and 
revenge  that  would  eternally  damn  the  soul  that  could  not  or 
would  not  accept  the  gratuitous  intervention.  If  they  were 
lawfully  condemned,  the  mind  cannot  conceive  how  the  love 
that  intervenes  can  be  lawful.  Law  is  not  for  irresponsible 
creatures,  nor  is  it  really  viqlated  except  intentionally.  It  is 
wonderous  power  which  sustained  the  Founder  of  either  sys- 
tem in  the  terrible  trial  to  which  He  exposed  Himself,  and 
which  enforces  the  Law  by  which  "False  worshippers  and 
what  they  follow,  shall  to  the  pit  like  stones  to  hell  descend." 
The  mind  cannot  conceive  what  it  is  that  the  false  worship- 
pers follow,  as  being  of  such  a  substantive  consistence  as  to 
descend  to  hell  or  anywhere  else.  Such  expressions  mean 
something  or  nothing.  We  have  no  more  right  to  assume 
that  they  mean  nothing  than  their  Authors  have  to  take  refuge 
in  ambiguity  or  metaphor.  If  there  is  something  that  false 
worshippers  follow,  and  which  like  them,  shall  to  the  pit 
descend  like  stones  to  hell,  a  philosophy  ot  the  religion  which 
teaches  the  doctrine  ought  to  throw  some  light  on  the  subject; 
it  ought  to  give  us  some  idea  of  the  personality  or  consistence 
of  that  which  the  fiilse  worshippers  follow. 

The  Light  of  Asia  and  Pearls  of  the  Faith,  are  said  to  em- 
body a  philosophy.     Their  Author  is  "of  a  firm  conviction  that 


466  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

a  third  of  mankind  would  never  have  been  brought  to  believe 
in  blank  abstractions."  That  a  third  of  mankind  believe  in  the 
delirious  ravings  and  imprecations  of  an  alleged  religious  doc- 
trine is  no  argument  for  their  validity,  nor  that  they  are  not  blank 
abstractions.  Almost  another  third  of  mankind  believe  in  dif- 
ferent doctrines,  and  positively  reject  these.  The  circumstance 
argues  that  both  are  blank  abstractions.  And  the  difference 
between  descending  to  the  pit  like  stones  to  hell,  and  being  joy- 
ous without  end,  depends  upon  belief.  The  Author  of  the  com- 
parative apologetics  not  only  admits  but  insists  that  there  is  at 
least  a  provisional  validity  in  each  of  the  two  conflicting  doc- 
trines. "As-Sigill  rolleth  up  his  record,  and  seals  and  binds  it 
when  a  man  doth  die;  "  and  the  fate  of  the  false  worshipper  is 
fixed.  The  faces  of  true  believers  shall  be  glad  and  bright.  If 
these  are  not  blank  abstractions  it  is  at  least  difficult  to  imagine 
the  psychological  condition  to  which  they  can  have  any  intelli- 
gible meaning. 

Life  is  no  joke;  and  no  one  can  deride  death.  The  change 
is  the  most  serious  affiiir  one  can  contemplate.  "If  a  man  die 
shall  he  live  again  .^"  is  the  momentous  question.  It  is  argued 
by  almost  every  pen  that  plumes , itself  in  philosophic  airs,  and 
immortality  is  either  urged  or  assumed  in  almost  every  literary 
expression  worth  naming.  But  the  economy  of  the  several  sys- 
tems cannot  be  made  intelligible.  Belief  is  indispensable  and 
fiilse  worshippers  are  to  be  damned.  There  is  consequently  a 
great  waste  or  loss  of  spiritual  substance,  or  of  that  which  in 
the  domain  of  spiritual  life  is  the  counterpart  of  the  animated 
body  in  physical  life.  These  spiritual  individualities  suffer  dam- 
nation, and  their  Creator  suffers  their  loss,  simply  because  they 
are  not  true  believers,  but  are  false  worshippers.  Now,  if  one 
worships  at  all  he  must  worship  that  in  which  he  believes.  If 
he  believes  in  that  which  is  false,  he  is  blameless  and  ought  not 
to  be  damned  if  he  sincerely  believes  in  and  worships  it.  The  love  • 
that  brings  the  true  Light  into  the  world  for  all  men,  is  very  ec- 
centric to  purposely  withhold  it  from  any.  And  it  has  been  pur- 
posely withheld  from  many,  and  for  many  ages  from  all,  if  either 
of  these  systems  is  the  true  light.  Comparatively  speaking,  in 
either  case  it  has  shone  upon   few,  and    many    millions  who 


i 


COMPARATIVE  APOLOGETICS.  467 

have  seen  it,  have  not  been  able  to  recognize  it  as  the  true 
light.  Those  who  never  see  it  may  be  unfortunate,  but  those 
who  see  and  do  not  believe  in  it  can  be  no  more  than  unfortu- 
nate. If  they  really  disbelieve  in  it,  it  must  be  because  they 
cannot  believe.  Belief  does  not  stand  ready  at  the  beck  or  the 
bid  of  Mind.  Men  believe  from  necessity,  and  argument  neces- 
sarily presumes  that  no  belief  can  be  voluntary.  No  bare  as- 
sertion entirely  devoid  of  reason  for  its  belief  can  be  intelligently 
believed.  Even  the  supposed  reliability  ot  the  source  is  often 
the  basis  of  belief  in  assertion.  Actual  worship  implies  actual 
belief,  and  no  one  can  be  a  false  worshipper.  That  which  one 
worships  may  be  false,  or  it  may  not  actually  be  at  all,  but  the 
moment  one  is  convinced  of  this  he  cannot  worship  it. 

The  mind  cannot  conceive  of  the  possibility  of  a  limit  to  the 
power  which  endured  the  pain  in  which  either  of  these  systems 
is  said  to  have  had  its  birth;  nor  can  it  conceive  a  limit  to  the 
love  that  prompted  the  Founder  of  either  system  to  undergo  the 
ordeal.  The  purpose  seems  to  have  been  the  greatest  and  best 
that  ever  actuated  any  one.  No  one  can  conceive  of  the  native 
inherent  difference  among  the  innumerable  subjects  of  this 
mercy  and  love  by  reason  of  which  any  of  them  are  better  en- 
titled to  divine  clemency  or  favor  than  any  others  of  them.  But 
still  we  behold  divine  mercy  and  love,  and  infinite  wisdom  and 
power,  engaged  in  two  futile  efforts  to  save  a  lost  world. 
Through  one  Agency  they  have  operated  twenty-five  hundred 
years,  and  its  precepts  are  enfoiced  upon  something  more  than 
a  third  of  mankind ;  through  another  Agency  they  have  operated 
nineteen  hundred  years,  and  its  precepts  are  enforced  upon 
something  less  than  a  third.  The  places  chosen  (?)  for  the  in- 
auguration of  both  systems  are  no  longer  under  their  several 
influences,  but  they  are  the  theatres  of  systems  as  different  from 
them  as  they  can  be  from  each  other. 

Unless  we  know  the  inherent  difference  among  classes  or 
individuals,  by  virtue  of  which  some  are  better  entitled  to  di- 
vine favor  than  others,  we  cannot  comprehend  the  policy  or 
principle  of  divine  economy  upon  which  some  should,  while 
others  should  not  be  saved  by  it.  Unless  we  know  the  differ- 
ence  among   classes   or  individuals  by  virtue  of  which  one  of 


468  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

the  systems  is  better  adapted  to  promote  the  spiritual  welfare 
of  some  than  of  others,  we  cannot  comprehend  the  policy  or 
principle  of  divine  economy  upon  which  the  energy  of  either 
system  is  expended  upon  one  class  instead  of  the  other,  if 
Christianity  is  better  adapted  to  promote  the  spiritual  welfare 
of  any  section  of  mankind  than  Buddhism,  then  Buddhism  is  a 
bauble.  If  Buddhism  is  better  adapted  to  promote  the  spiritual 
welfare  of  any  section  of  mankind  than  Christianity,  then  Chris- 
tianity is  an  imposture.  If  either  system  is  of  divine  origin  it 
is  as  well  adapted  to  any  one  race  and  clime  as  to  any  other. 
If  there  is  «o  such  essential  difference  among  the  races  or  in- 
dividuals of  mankind,  there  can  be  no  economy  in  more  than 
one  system.  If  one  of  the  systems  is  valid,  the  other  is  not 
only  of  no  utility;  it  is  positively  mischievous.  And  the  more 
plausible  and  attractive  it  may  appear,  the  more  inimical  it  is 
to  the  welfare  of  mankind,  in  keeping  more  persons  from  the 
true  system.  If  there  is  such  difference  among  the  races  or  in- 
dividuals of  mankind,  there  is  no  universal  brotherhood,  and 
the  bedrock  of  both  systems  is  mere  quicksand.  If  mankind  is 
a  universal  brotherhood,  then  every  individual  ought,  not  only 
to  be  entitled  and  susceptible  to  the  saving  grace  of  the  one 
valid  system ;  he  ought,  in  its  divine  economv  to  be  secure  of 
final  salvation  by  means  of  such  grace.  No  other  economic 
principle  can  be  made  intelligible,  and  this  necessitates  the 
utter  invalidity  of  one  or  the  other  of  these  two  systems.  To 
say  of  any  system  that  all  men  may  be  saved  by  availing  them- 
selves of  its  grace,  is  no  argument  for  the  validity  of  such  sys- 
tem. No  man  ever  made  or  endowed  himself.  Even  if  he 
could  compel  himself  to  believe,  his  very  tendency  is  the  sum 
of  transmitted  experiences  and  inclinations. 

When  forced  to  admit  that  there  can  be  but  one  true  relig- 
ion, we  may  complacently  assume  that  it  is  not  Christianity 
that  is  the  invalid  one  of  these  two  systems — but  there  is  more 
arrogance  than  reason  in  the  assumption.  The  other  was 
ancient  when  ours  was  inaugurated,  and  near  a  hundred  and 
eighty  millions  more  believe  in  it  to-day.  If  ours  has  bred  a 
civilization  that  suits  us  better  than  that  of  the  other,  the  other 
has  bred  a  civilization,  or  at   least   fosters   one,  that   seems  to 


COMPARATIVE    APOLOGETICS.  469 

suit  more  than  a  third  of  our  race  so  well  that  they  show  no 
disposition  to  abandon  it  for  ours. 

That  both  systems  are  intended  for  one  race  of  one  nature 
is  argued  in  the  great  deal  of  the  detail  in  each  that  is  common 
to  both.  That  either  is  sufficient  for  all  men  in  all  climes  is 
argued  in  the  extensive  prevalence  of  each  in  every  variety  of 
race  and  clime.  That  neither  was  ever  affected  by  any  ten- 
dency of  race  or  clime,  is  argued  in  the  claim  for  the  divine 
origin  of  each.  But  if  they  are  of  divine  origin  it  is  difficult  to 
understand  why  they  should  not  fiourish  where  they  were  first 
planted.  The  divine  Wisdom  and  Power  that  devised  and 
sustains  them,  ought  to  have  known  the  race  and  clime  best 
adapted  to  their  development,  if  there  was  a  difference.  If  they 
are  not  of  divine  origin  they  are  mere  human  contrivances 
begun  in  time;  and  like  all  other  human  contrivances  they  will 
pass  away  in  time.  There  is  in  each  ot  them  the  same  incon- 
gruous mix  of  Love  and  Law,  andof  Grace  and  Revenge.  There 
is  the  same  incomprehensible  combination  of  Necessity  and 
Freedom,  shrouded  in  impenetrable  mystery,  which  the  less  it 
is  understood,  the  more  it  must  be  believed. 

"This  is  enough  to  know,  the  phantasms  are; 

The  Heavens,  Earths,  Worlds,  and  changes  changing  them, 

A  mighty  whirling  wheel  of  strife  and  stress 

Which  none  can  stay  or  stem. 

*  *  * 

*  Ye  who  suffer,  know 

Ye  suffer  from  yourselves.     None  else  compels, 
None  other  holds  you  that  ye  live  and  die. 

*         Lower  than  hell, 
Higher  than  heaven,  outside  the  utmost  stars, 
Farther  than  Brahm  doth  dwell. 
Before  beginning  and  without  end 
As  Space  eternal,  and  as  surety  sure. 
Is  fixed  a  Power  divine  which  moves  to  good 

*  *  * 

It  will  not  be  contemned  of  any  one; 

Who  thwarts  it  loses,  and  who  serves  it  gains; 

The  hidden  good  it  pays  with  peace  and  bliss, 

The  hidden  ill  with  pains. 

*  *  * 

Such  moreover  as  of  old  time,  loved  the  truth  and  taught  it  well. 
First  in  faith,  they  shall  be  foremost  in  reward;  the  rest  to  hell." 


470  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

If  one  only  knew  what  truth  it  was  that  should  be  loved 
and  well  taught,  he  mfght  be  prepared  to  make  himself  first  in 
fliith  and  foremost  in  reward.  But  if  more  than  one  third  of 
mankind  have  not  believed  in  blank  abstractions  or  worse, 
nearly  another  third  of  mankind  have  believed  in  blank  abstrac- 
tions, or  worse;  because  in  many  respects  the  alleged  truths  of 
these  two  systems  are  conflicting.  Both  systems  bribe  with 
promises  of  reward  for  belief,  and  threaten  whh  hell  for  unbe- 
lief; alike  appealing  to  the  baser  instincts,  the  selfishness  and 
fear  of  men.  That  which  on  pain  of  eternal  damnation  must 
be  believed  is  shrouded  in  absolute  mystery,  and  two  systems, 
each  claimed  to  be  at  least  provisionally  valid,  require  us  to 
believe  directly  conflicting  doctrines.  If  one  is  not  a  system  of 
blank  abstractions  or  worse,  the  other  must  be.  There  is  but 
one  escape  from  this  result,  and  it  renders  both  systems  worth- 
less. If  each  of  two  conflicting  religious  doctrines  can  have 
any  validity  for  mankind  it  must  be  because  religion  is  itself  a 
mere  subjective  condition.  No  one  can  believe  that  he  is 
penally  liable  for  his  real  belief  If  religion  consists  mainly  in 
belief,  it  must  be  a  subjective  condition,  and  any  one  may  by 
proper  proof,  and  some  times  by  artful  argument,  be  forced  to 
believe  that  which  he  would  prefer  to  disbelieve. 

No  one  can  possibly  believe  that  he  suffers  wholly  from 
himself,  nor  that  none  other  holds  him  that  he  live  and  die. 
No  one  can  conceive  how  he  acquires  susceptibility  to  pain,  or 
tendency  to  the  ill  which  is  paid  in  pain.  While  he  does  not 
know  the  Other  which  holds  him  that  he  live  and  die;  the 
Else  which  compels,  no  one  can  conceive  that  he  ever  caused 
himself  to  live. 

No  one  can  comprehend  the  law  of  the  Power  which  moves 
to  good,  the  law  which  governs  the  "mighty  whirling  wheel 
of  strife  and  stress  which  none  can  stay  or  stem."  One  may 
sometimes  be  brought  to  realize  that  peace  and  bliss  are  con- 
sequences of  good,  and  that  pain  is  a  consequence  of  ill.  But 
one  must  draw  heavily  upon  his  imagination  to  see  them  as 
rewards  or  payments.  Physical  illustrations  argue  little  or 
nothing  for  the  validity  of  any  religious  doctrine  of  reward  and 
punishment,  for  conduct  morally  good  or  bad.     One  who  pur- 


COMPARATIVE    APOLOGETICS.  47  I 

posely  or  recklessly  encounters  contagion,  suffers  no  more  from 
disease  and  dies  no  deadlier,  than  one  who  is  accidentally  expos- 
ed. Some  plants  shrink  from  a  strong  light  or  a  touch.  The 
tendrils  of  some  vines  reach  out  for  adjacent  support.  There 
may  be  very  little  intelligence  in  such  action,  but  there  is  as 
much  as  there  is  in  some  of  the  acts  of  man  that  result  in  dis- 
ease and  death.  The  quality  in  man,  whatever  it  may  be,  by 
virtue  of  which  he  shrinks  from  supposed  ill,  and  reaches  out 
for  adjacent  supposed  support,  is  imbued  in  him  by  the  same 
Power  that  impressed  it  upon  the  plant  and  the  vine.  It  is  of 
the  same  kind,  the  difference  is  in  degree.  Results  cannot  pro- 
perly be  regarded  rewards  in  either  case.  Man  frequently 
knows  pain  which  he  cannot  believe  to  be  the  just  price  of  ill. 
He  frequently  knows  ill  that  is  never  requited  in  the  appropri- 
ate pain. 

Man  knows  so  much  of  the  irregularity  of  supposed  conse- 
quences of  good  and  ill,  that  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  that  it  is 
governed  by  the  laws  of  the  Power  that  moves  to  good,  or  that 
such  laws  very  steadfastly  endure.  In  his  experience  and  ob- 
servation the  exception  is  almost  as  common  as  the  rule.  But 
it  is  his  nature  to  classify  phenomena  and  coordinate  experi- 
ences. Speculating  and  philosophizing  upon  these  he  almos^ 
unconsciously  formulates  an  unintelligible  faith  in  something 
not  distinctly  comprehensible,  and  he  never  becomes  fully 
cognizant  of  the  real  gist  and  import  of  the  faith.  He  insensibly 
concedes  its  invalidity,  at  least  its  want  of  divine  authenticity, 
in  attempting  to  vindicate  it  in  a  comparison.  As  there  can  be 
but  one  true  faith  comparison  is  inadmissible.  As  the  one  true 
faith  must  be  of  God  comparison  is  degrading  to  it. 

Analysis  of  their  arguments  will  invariably  show  that  no 
Apologist  ever  knew  just  what  it  was  he  believed  or  thought 
he  believed.  He  may  know  that  the  "the  phantasms  are;" 
and  it  may  be  "this  is  enough  to  know."  Should  he  know 
what  they  are — they  are  no  longer  phantasms — and  faith  is 
abolished,  or  merged  in  actual  knowledge — and  the  credulity 
of  the  heart  is  lost  in  the  actual  cognition  of  the  mind.  With 
the  removal  or  solution  of  mystery  the  spirit  of  worship  goes 
glimmering.     One  of  the  most  illogical  acts  of  apologetics  is  its 


472  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

attempt  to  solve  the  very  mystery  that  is  indispensable  to  the 
worship  of  the  God  whose  existence  it  attempts  to  prove. 
Demonstrate  the  existence  of  God  by  any  means  available  to 
the  senses,  and  you  can  no  more  worship  Him  than  you  can 
worship  any  other  known  physical  phenomenon.  The  creat- 
ures who  have  worshipped  phvsical  phenomena  and  the  works 
of  their  own  hands,  have  always  unintelligibly  spiritualized 
them  in  their  relation  to  themselves,  and  treated  the  immediate 
object  of  their  adoration  as  symbolic  only  of  the  mysterious 
Existence  really  worshipped.  There  is  no  worship  apart  from 
mystery. 

If  the  Heavens.  Earths,  Worlds,  and  changes  changing  them 
are  a  mighty  whirling  wheel  of  strife  and  stress  which  none  can 
stay  or  stem,  man  is  a  comparatively  insignificant  quantity. 
He  may  be  of  great  consequence  to  himself,  so  much  so  that  he 
would  not  suffer  from  himself,  nor  unless  some  One  else  com- 
pels. Yet  with  all  his  aversion  thereto  he  actually  suffers,  and 
his  most  perplexing  phantasm  is  the  fact,  that  he  is  especially 
fitted  for  suffering  by  the  "Power  which  moves  to  good,"  the 
the  Being  that  is  all  Wisdom,  Grace,  and  Love.  All  his  at- 
tempts to  explain  this  to  himself  are  hopelessly  illogical.  He 
.  knows  to  begin  with  that  his  mind  is  incapable  of  seeing  in  it 
any  justice  or  economy.  If  he  will  think  accurately,  and  not 
gloze  over  the  subject  superficially,  he  must  know  that  the  more 
he  attempts  to  explain  the  matter  to  himself  on  any  principles  of 
justice  and  economy  with  which  he  is  acquainted,  the  more  con- 
fused and  mystified  it  becomes. 

The  idea  of  right  and  wrong  presupposes  in  the  subject  the 
faculty  of  discrimination,  and  the  power  to  choose  between 
right  and  wrong.  Man,  so  far  from  being  thus  endowed,  has 
even  his  tendency  to  choose  from  the  "Other"  who  holds  him 
that  he  live  and  die.  Indeed,  he  has  his  idea  of  right  and  wrong 
from  the  same  Source,  in  the  constitution  and  construction 
of  his  nervous  organism,  the  affections  of  which  are  his  ideas. 
And  even  the  affections  of  his  nervous  organism  which  are  his 
ideas  he  has  from  the  same  Source,  in  Its  placing  him  where  he 
will  be  affected  thus  and  so,  under  this  or  that  particular  religi- 
ous system. 


COMPARATIVE    APOLOGETICS.  473 

From  the  same  Source  he  has  his  inherent  desire  to  be  seen, 
heard,  and  felt,  in  the  world;  which  is  most  gratefully  gratified 
in  impressing  the  world  with  the  idea  that  he  knows  some- 
thing. From  the  same  Source,  or  at  least  from  some  cause  or 
causes,  the  world  is  variously  addicted  to  certain,  or  rather  un- 
certain faiths,  in  which  it  delights  to  be  fortified.  If  one  can 
furnish  it  an  argument  purporting  to  support  one  of  its  popular 
beliefs,  and  can  present  it  in  pleasing  form,  he  need  not  fear  that 
the  world  will  very  closely  scrutinize  the  validity  of  his  argu- 
ment. The  popular  mind  is  not  so  eager  to  have  its  idols  shat- 
tered. Its  supreme  delight  is  in  being  artistically  humbugged. 
One  of  the  most  artful  processes  available  to  Apologetics,  is  to 
paint  in  glowing  colors  the  beauties  of  a  rival  faith,  insist  on  its 
provisional  validity  on  the  ground  that  it  is  widely  diffused;  at 
the  same  time  tacitly  asserting  or  assuming  as  a  matter  of  course 
the  superiority  of  its  own. 

The  casual  reader  of  the  Light  of  Asia  may  be  well  enter- 
tained with  a  picture  of  an  ancient  Oriental  suggestion  of  a 
modern  Occidental  Faith,  in  some  respects  its  prototype.  He 
may  also  derive  from  it  and  its  companion-pieces  some  know- 
ledge as  interesting  as  any  that  is  diffused  in  epic  poetry. 

The  critical  reader  will  see  in  it  a  futile  effort  to  present  an 
unintelligible  theology  in  philosophic  form;  an  attempt  to  har- 
monize freedom  with  fate,  choice  with  necessity,  religious  duty 
and  personal  accountability  with  helpless  imbecility  and  pred- 
estined automatism.  He  will  see  the  wisest  of  all  Beings  en- 
gaged in  the  most  absurd  of  all  doings — infinite  Love,  Mercy, 
Wisdom,  and  Power,  threatening  and  damning  Its  own  creat- 
ures for  merely  disbelieving  that,  which  It  has  so  constituted 
them  as  that  they  cannot  believe — that  which,  to  the  minds 
with  which  It  has  endowed  them,  must  appear  preposterous. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

LITERARY  SUFISM. 
History's  Repetition — Conglomeration  of;s;»5in  Emerson's  Alleged  Philosophy — 
Mind  Cannot  Rise  Above  the  Mortal  Condition — -Either  Election  or  Univer- 
sal Salvation  Cancels  Duty — Final  Absorption  in  the  Divine  Implies  Prior 
Emanation  From  the  Divine — Election  Forbids  Either  Acceptance  or  Rejec- 
tion of  Divine  Mercy — Optimistic  View  of  Damnation — Absorption  in  the 
Divine  Extinguishes  Individuality,  and  Hence  Cancels  Interest  and  Duty- 
Divine  Creation  of  Man  Unthinkable — A  Philosophic  Religion  Could  Not 
be  Believed — Nature  of  Man  an  Arbitrary  Decree  of  God,  if  He  has  Decreed 
Anything  as  to  Man — Truth  Cannot  be  Illogical. 

Near  eight  hundred  years  ago  a  Persian  poet  is  said  to  have 
allegorized  the  Sufistic  mysticism  in  a  poem  called  the  Mantic 
Uttair;  in  which  the  habitual  discontent  of  the  soul  is  symbol- 
ized in  the  ennui  of  the  birds  in  their  republic,  and  their  longing 
for  a  king.  This  must  have  been  a  crude  and  rude  representa- 
tion of  the  human  weariness  with  irksome  common-place  in 
real  life,  and  aspiration  after  a  more  exalted  ideal.  Yet  it  ans- 
wered the  purpose  so  well  that  to  the  latest  literary  posterity, 
the  name  of  Ferrid-Eddin-Athar  will  recall  an  ancient  Oriental 
poetry,  mysticism,  and  alleged  philosophy. 

Of  the  multitude  of  feathery  pilgrims  which  his  Lapwing 
undertook  to  lead  to  the  Caucasus  to  greet  the  Simorg,  their 
chosen  king,  only  thirty  arrived,  and  they  immediately  lost 
their  identity  in  the  king.  "They  are  he,  and  he  is  they.  In 
such  strange  fashion  did  the  Persian  poet  image  forth  the  search 
of  the  human  soul  after  God,  and  its  absorption  into  the  divine." 
Thus  also  it  seems  the  Persian  poet  expressed,  as  obscurely  as 
could  be  done,  a  partial  pantheism ;  if  such  quantity  is  suppos- 
able. 

Near  eight  hundred  years  later  the  same  spirit  intensified 
breaks  out  on  an  opposite  side  of  the  globe,  in  the  mysticism  of 
a  rhapsodist  who  blends  and  confuses  all  the  /s/;/5  that  ever  per- 
plexed and  distorted  thought,  in  an  alleged  philosophy  which 
no  one  can  name  so  as  to  indicate  its  kind  and  character.  So 
named  as  to  indicate  specifically  its  kind  and  character,  its-  title 
would  consist  of  a  catalogue  of  all  the  philosophies  known. 


i 


LITERARY    SUFISM.  475 

The  modern  mystic  excels  his  Oriental  prototype  in  bringing 
his  entire  flock,  instead  of  an  elect  thirty,  into  identity  with  their 
Simorg — at  least  where  they  may  be  absorbed  in  him.  He  also 
excels  him  in  rendering  the  absorption  more  unintelligible  and 
bewildering  to  the  mind  which  attempts  to  extract  a  definite 
thought  from  the  learned  fustian  in  which  the  incongruity  is 
spumed.  He  exclaims.  "Ineffable  is  the  union  of  God  and  man 
in  every  act  of  the  soul.  The  simplest  person  who  in  his  in- 
tegrity worships  God,  becomes  God.  *  *  *  He  has  not 
the  conviction,  but  the  sight  that  the  best  is  the  true,  and  may 
in  thought  easily  dismiss  all  particular  uncertainties  and  fears, 
and  adjourn  to  the  sure  revelation  of  time  the  solution  of  his 
private  riddles.  He  is  sure  that  his  welfare  is  dear  to  the  heart 
of  being.  In  the  presence  of  law  to  his  mind,  he  is  overflowed 
with  a  reliance  so  universal  that  it  sweeps  away  all  cherished 
hopes  and  most  stable  projects  of  the  mortal  condition  in  its 
flood.  He  believes  that  he  cannot  escape  from  his  good.  The 
things  that  are  really  for  thee,  gravitate  to  thee.  You  are  run- 
ning to  meet  your  friend.  Let  your  feet  run.  but  your  mind 
need  not.  If  you  do  not  find  him,  will  you  not  acquiesce  that 
it  is  best  you  should  not  ?  For  there  is  a  power,  which,  as  it 
IS  in  you,  is  in  him  also,  and  could  therefore  very  well  bring  you 
together,  if  it  were  for  the  best.  *  *  *  Let  every  man  then 
learn  the  revelation  of  all  nature  and  all  thought  to  his  heart; 
this  namely:  that  the  highest  dwells  within  him;  that  the 
sources  of  nature  are  in  his  mind,  if  the  sentiment  of  duty  is 
there," 

Hortatives  that  are  not  verbose  vacuums  are  cheap  enough. 
Those  that  are  mere  metaphor,  meaning  nothing  intelligible  are 
dear  at  any  cost,  or  at  none.  If  the  welfare  of  man  is  dear  to 
the  heart  of  being,  then  the  heart  of  being,  if  it  has  the  capacity 
therefor,  ought  to  promote  the  welflire  of  man.  If  the  heart  of 
being  is  solicitous  for  the  welfare  of  man,  the  term  is  probably 
intended  to  designate  the  spirit  of  intelligent  order  and  system 
that  seems  to  pervade  all  tangible  existence,  in  which  a  weird 
cosmotheism  condescends  to  recognize  the  possibility  of  a  God. 
But  if  the  welfare  of  man  is  really  dear  to  such  a  Being,  it  is  in- 
deed strange  that  his  welfare  is  so  little  subserved.     The  heart 


476  ETHICS  OF    LITERATURE, 

ot  being  is  used  in  the  above-quoted  expression  of  confidence, 
as  a  noun  substantive.  It  seems  to  be  intended  as  the  name  of 
something  sufficiently  substantial  to  be  an  omnipresent  over- 
ruling Power,  in  other  words  the  Almighty.  And  the  man 
who  in  his  integrity  worships  God,  is  sure  that  his  welfare  is 
dear  to  such  Being.  If  we  consider  what  man  must  do  to  be- 
come sure  of  this,  we  are  appalled  at  the  enormity  of  the  under- 
taking. The  labors  of  Hercules  were  child's  play  in  comparison. 
If  man  inherits  or  contracts  a  disease  that  writhes  him  over  the 
brink  of  the  grave  for  three  score  years,  he  must  see  in  every 
pain  which  pierces  him,  an  expression  of  the  solicitude  of  the 
heart  of  being  for  his  welfare.  His  mind,  which  is  the  sum  of 
impressions  on  his  nerve  organism,  which  impressions  are 
moulded  or  colored  according  to  inherited  qualities  in  the  nerve 
organism,  must  reject  all  its  traditions  and  experiences,  and  in- 
sist that  an  ache  is  an  ease,  that  a  pain  is  a  pleasure,  and  that 
the  bitterest  disappointment  is  the  fullest  fruition  of  the  fondest 
hope. 

No  man  can  comprehend  the  flood  of  reliance  that  sweeps 
away  cherished  hopes  and  stable  projects  of  the  mortal  condi- 
tion. Certainly  no  one  can  comprehend  its  practical  utility. 
If  spiritual  philosophy  avouches  an  alleged  analogy  in  the 
science  of  physical  phenomena,  it  ought  first  to  distinctly  mark 
the  line  dividing  them.  Without  such  boundary  there  is  but 
one  realm,  and  as  distinguished  from  each  other  the  terms 
spiritual  and  physical  mean  nothing.  '  In  such  case  metaphor 
is  worse  than  idle. 

No  one  can  conceive  how  he  could  be  overflowed  with  a 
flood  of  reliance  which  he  would  wish  to  have  sweep  away 
his  most  cherished  hopes  and  stable  projects  of  the  mortal  con- 
dition. The  mind  itself  cannot  get  above  the  mortal  condition ; 
and  it  is  illogical  to  desire  to  be  overflowed  with  a  reliance,  the 
flood  of  which  must  devastate  the  only  condition  to  which  it 
can  attain.  And  by  the  way,  what  kind  of  a  figure  or  flourish 
in  literature  is  the  phrase,  overflow  or  flood  of  reliance  ? 

Analysis  of  the  above  quoted  exclamations  gives  one  of  the 
most  complex  conglomerations  of  discordant  elements  to  be 
found  in  any  literary  compound.     If  the  person  who  worships 


LITERARY    SUFISM.  477 

God  becomes  God;  if  the  goal  of  the  soul  is  absorption  in  the 
divine  (unity),  there  can  be  no  occasion  for  man's  concern  for 
the  future  unless  he  can  ''escape  from  his  good."  There  is  no 
logic  in  the  proposition  that  the  sources  of  nature  are  in  his 
mind  if  the  sentiment  of  duty  is  there.  If  one  cannot  escape 
from  his  good,  the  word  duty  means  nothing  whatever  to 
him. 

The  rhapsodist  is  not  dealing  with  the  question  as  relating 
to  an  elect  few  who  innst  reach  and  be  absorbed  in  their 
Simorg;  but  professedly  with  the  duty  and  destiny  of  man, 
collectively  and  individually.  And  yet  election  is  implied  in 
the  propositions  that  the  things  that  are  really  for  thee  gravi- 
tate to  thee;  and  that  it  may  be  best  that  you  fail  to  fmd  the 
friend  you  are  running  to  seek.  And  still  he  makes  each  man 
and  all  men  integral  parts  of  the  heart  of  being;  among  whom 
or  in  which  there  can  be  no  election.  If  all  are  saved  there  is 
no  election. 

In  any  supposable  election  flite  cancels  duty.  The  rhapso- 
dist is  in  advance  of  his  Persian  prototype  so  far  only  as  he  re- 
jects (at  least  impliedly)  the  alleged  distinction  or  election  by 
virtue  of  which  but  a  few  of  the  multitude  are  finally  absorbed 
in  the  divine. 

No  reasoning  can  be  valid  that  ignores  the  possibilities  of  the 
human  mind.  No  mind  can  conceive  the  distinction  essential 
to  election.  Either  election  or  universal  salvation  cancels  all 
individual  duty  and  accountability.  If  those  to  be  saved  are 
elected  thereto,  they  are  already  virtually  saved,  they  "cannot 
escape  from  their  good."  If  salvation  is  to  be  universal,  duty 
and  accountability  are  superfluous.  If  the  soul's  goal  is  absorp- 
tion in  the  divine,  it  must  have  emanated  therefrom.  The 
mind  cannot  conceive  how  the  minute  aggregations  of  cast  off 
particles  from  the  all-pervading  spirit,  temporarily  individual- 
ized in  human  souls,  can  be  more  responsible  in  such  isolation 
than  in  their  original  or  future  absorption  in  the  divine.  That 
the  worshipper  becomes  the  God  he  worships  is  not  only  a 
very  silly  proposition,  it  is  very  irreverent.  No  one  can  con- 
ceive why  he  should  be  saved  while  others  are  damned.  If  all 
souls  emanated  from  the  same  all-pervading  Spirit,  it  is   im- 


478  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

possible  to  imagine  a  difference  among  tiiem  in  merit.  Election 
and  universal  salvation  alike  forbid  considerations  of  merit,  and 
hence  of  duty  and  accountability.  If  one  attempts  to  attribute 
difference  in  results  to  difference  in  merit,  he  should  proceed  to 
account  for  difference  in  inherited  capacity,  tendency,  and  in- 
stinct. He  should  also  explain  the  moral  value  of  the  various 
complications  of  environment. 

If  one  attempts  to  account  for  the  supposed  need  of  a  Savior 
in  the  alleged  condemnation  of  all  men;  and  to  account  for  the 
salvation  of  a  few  by  means  of  the  intervention  of  the  Savior, 
he  should  explain  why  these  are,  while  those  are  not  saved  by 
means  of  the  same  intervention.  To  say  that  the  damned  reject 
the  proffered  mercy  is  mere  subterfuge.  The  question  remains, 
why  do  they  reject  it  ?  If  their  souls  emanate  from  the  same 
all-pervading  Spirit,  it  is  indeed  strange  they  would  not  be 
more  in  accord  on  a  proposition  so  vital  to  their  interests.  Elec- 
tion forbids  either  acceptance  or  rejection  of  the  proffered  mercy. 
If  there  is  an  ineffable  union  of  God  and  any  man  in  any  act  of 
the  soul,  the  rhapsodist  should  explain  why,  in  the  only  economy 
conceivable  bv  the  human  mind,  the  same  union  does  not  exist 
between  God  and  all  men  in  all  acts  of  their  souls.  If  the  Al- 
mighty blew  souls  into  mankind  in  blowing  the  breath  of  life 
into  Adam's  nostrils,  then  all  souls  emanate  from,  and  are  parts 
of  an  all-pervading  Spirit. 

If  man  has  any  intelligible  reason  to  believe  that  he  cannot 
escape  from  his  own  good,  and  that  the  things  that  are  really 
for  him  gravitate  to  him,  then  there  can  be  no  occasion  for  the 
sentiment  of  duty  in  him.  so  far  as  his  soul's  salvation  is  con- 
cerned. He  need  not  worry  about  the  sources  of  nature,  either 
in  or  out  of  his  mind;  nor  need  he  run  to  meet  his  friend,  if,  on 
failure  to  tlnd  him  he  must  acquiesce  that  it  is  best  he  should  fail. 
It  is  a  strange  optimism  that  consoles  the  damned  in  the  reflec- 
tion that  in  the  inscrutable  wisdom  of  divine  Providence  it  is 
found  best  that  they  be  damned.  Such  a  reflection  would 
make  the  hangman's  noose  a  cordial  caress  of  the  good  Angel 
of  death. 

If  "there  is  a  power,  which,  as  it  is  in  you,  is  in  him  also, 
and  could  therefore  bring  you  together  if  it  were  for  the  best," 


LITERARY    SUFISM.  479 

that  Power  must  find  it  best  that  you  be  damned,  or  it  will 
certainly  save  you.  Your  only  possible  duty  then  with  regard 
to  your  soul,  is  to  content  yourself  in  hell  if  you  are  damned. 
The  rhapsodist's  images  symbolize  man's  struggle  to  save  his 
soul,  which  is  already  either  saved  or  damned;  and  the  damned 
are  counselled  to  take  refuge  in  an  optimism  which  sees  divine 
mercy  in  condemnation,  and  rejoices  in  the  hope  of  happi- 
ness in  hell. 

In  imitation  of  the  dogma  of  some  physical  philosophers,  that 
all  substantive  existences  are  traceable  to  a  universal  monad,  and 
are  again  diffused  in  impalpable  gases,  it  is  argued  that  indi- 
vidual souls  are  aggregations  of  effluences  from  an  all-pervading 
Spirit;  and  that  they  are  reabsorbed  in  the  "one  Element."  in 
the  "far  off  divine  event  to  which  the  whole  creation  moves," 
as  physical  substances  are  disintegrated  and  diffused  in  impalp- 
able gases.  If  the  all-pervading  Spirit  is  all-pervading,  there 
can  be  no  room  either  in  temporal  or  eternal  space  into  which 
the  effluences  can  eftluesce  and  organize  into  individual  souls. 
We  must  believe  that  all  the  substance  ever  forming  any  part 
of  a  tangible  physical  existence,  has  always  existed  and  will 
always  exist : — that  at  the  apparent  destruction  of  any  tangible 
physical  existence,  its  substance  merely  changes  form,  condi- 
tion, and  place;  is  rediffused  in  the  impalpable  element  from 
which,  in  "this  round  of  being"  it  has  integrated  into  and  be- 
come a  tangible  physical  existence.  If  we  speculate  upon  this 
subject  we  are  forced  to  this  belief,  because  we  find  it  impos- 
sible to  imagine  the  actual  annihilation  of  any  conceivable  sub- 
stance. 

Applied  to  spiritual  existence  this  principle  cancels  all  claim 
of  utilitv  in  either  morality  or  religion  as  a  means  of  saving 
souls.  If  the  worshipper  becomes  the  God  he  worships,  then  the 
component  of  his  soul,  his  spiritual  existence,  is  absorbed  and 
loses  its  identity  in  the  divine  (Unity).  If  the  parallel  holds 
good,  if  the  analogy  is  really  analogous,  there  is  no  occasion  for 
worship ;  because  all  souls,  having  emanated  from,  are  again 
absorbed  in  the  all-pervading  Spirit;  and  so  far  as  the  salvation 
of  souls  is  concerned,  religion  and  morality  are  empty  names  of 
nothing. 


480  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

If  all  souls  are  not  necessarily  reabsorbed  in  the  same  all- 
pervading  Spirit  from  which  they  have  so  emanated,  the  par- 
allel and  analogy  fail,  and  religious  philosophy  is  forced  to  its 
final  resource  (Sophistry)  to  account  for  the  enormous  waste  of 
soul-substance — a  waste  for  which  it  cannot  imagine  a  parallel 
in  physical  existence.  Here  then  is  a  necessary  break  in  the 
alleged  analogy,  which  is  ruinous  to  all  argument  based 
upon  it.  And  if  the  analogy  holds  good  and  is  really 
analogous,  the  consequence  is  still,  and  more  speedily,  ruinous 
to  such  argument.  The  same  soul-substance,  absorbed  in  the 
divine,  the  all-pervading  Spirit,  it  will  again  efflux  therefrom 
and  effloresce  in  future  souls,  to  be  damned  or  saved  in  some 
future  eternity,  according  to  a  capricious  and  unintelligible 
election.  The  substance  of  the  proudest  and  most  majestic 
Oak  becomes  the  mould  from  which  the  future  most  contempti- 
ble nettle  extracts  the  substance  of  its  corporeality  and  the 
venom  of  its  sting.  It  also  decomposes  into  the  gases  that 
again  and  again  combine  in  innumerable  forms  of  physical  ex- 
istence, and  no  mind  can  intelligently  atteitipt  to  think  it  at 
rest,  or  as  not  being  in  some  form.  And  if  religious  philosophy 
attempts  to  explain  the  principle  of  economy  upon  which  the 
soul-substance  emanating  from  the  all-pervading  Spirit,  so 
deteriorates  while  individualized  in  human  souls,  as  to  become 
fit  only  for  damnation,  it  must  look  beyond  the  range  of  physi- 
cal existence  for  its  analogy.  But  it  is  uniformly  more  courage- 
gous  than  clear  in  its  convictions. 

There  is  another  feature  of  this  idea  of  final  absorption  of  the 
soul  in  the  divine  (Unity)  that  is  ruinous  to  all  argument  for 
morality  and  religion.  It  obliterates  individuality,  and  hence 
cancels  personal  interest  and  obligation.  If  the  individual  soul 
loses  its  personality  and  becomes  absorbed  in  one  all-pervading 
Spirit,  it  is  then  utterly  extinct  as  a  soul,  and  the  mind  cannot 
conceive  how  it  can  make  any  difference  to  such  soul  whether 
it  goes  to  heaven  or  to  hell.  Its  individual  existence  ended, 
consequences  to  it  are  iio'  more.  If  the  worshipper  becomes 
God,  and  the  reviler  becomes  Devil ;  there  is  still  utter  annihi- 
lation of  personal  and  individual  being,  and  hence  also  an  end  to 
the  consequences  of  conduct  and  belief     The  idea  is  too  vision- 


LITERARY    SUFISM.  48 1 

ary  for  serious  consideration,  yet  it  saddens  the  strains  of  song, 
and  darkens  the  gloom  of  mysticism.  It  is  learnedly  elaborated 
in  high-sounding  phrase  by  writers  canonized  us  saints  and 
revered  as  sages;  and  who,  in  their  efforts  to  impress  the  world 
with  ideas  which  themselves  have  never  adequately  understood, 
have  confused  thought  to  a  kaleidoscopic  and  inexpressible  mys- 
ticism. Not  one  of  them  can  tell,  so  himself  can  understand  it, 
what  it  is  regarding  the  derivation,  duty  and  destiny  of  man 
that  he  really  believes. 

If  some  think  they  believe  in  the  divine  creation  of  man  by 
a  Being  of  infinite  power,  wisdom,  justice,  and  grace ;  when 
they  candidly  consider  the  work,  they  must  admit  it  is  not  so 
well  done  as  such  a  Being  could,  and  hence  would  have  done 
it.  If  they  think  they  believe  that  such  Being  made  man  all  for 
His  own  glory;  when  they  attempt  to  contemplate  Him,  they 
cannot  conceive  of  Him  as  itching  for  the  fame  among  His  own 
creatures,  of  having  saved  a  few  of  them  from  the  fangs  of 
another  of  them,  and  delighting  in  the  forced  praises  of  a  very 
small  minority  and  the  voluntary  execrations  of  a  vast  majority 
ot  them.  They  must  believe  that  such  Being  made  the  Devil 
(if  there  is  one)  because  "all  things  were  made  by  Him,  and 
without  Him  was  not  anything  made  that  was  made."  They 
must  also  believe  that  He  made  the  darkness  which  compre- 
hended not  the  light  shining  in  it.  If  they  think  they 
believe  that  man  in  his  own  fault,  and  at  the  instigation  of  the 
Devil,  incurred  the  just  wrath  of  his  Creator,  they  cannot,  on 
due  consideration  blame  even  the  Devil,  because  the  darkness 
comprehended  not  the  light.  They  cannot  blame  man,  because 
this  Being  not  only  made  him  as  he  was  made,  but  also  placed 
him  where  he  was  certain  to  be  instigated.  They  cannot 
blame  man  for  yielding  to  the  instigation,  because  he  was  made 
susceptible  to  the  very  wiles  which  the  Devil  was  made  and 
peculiarly  adapted  to  use. 

If  the  religionist  attempts  to  be  philosophical,  and  will  can-- 
didly  examine  his  belief,  he  will  find  that  he  cannot  really  believe 
in  it.     If  he  does  not  then  cut  the  acquaintance  of  philosophy, 
he  will  be  found  taking  refuge  in  ambiguity  and  such  mystic- 
isms as  the  absorption  of  individual  souls  in  an  all-pervading 


482  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

Spirit,  from  which  they  must  have  emanated  if  such  absorption 
is  their  goal.  Even  their  mvsticism  cannot  permit  the  souls  to 
come  from  any  other  source,  because  there  can  be  no  source 
")utside  of  or  beyond  the  all-pervading. 

When  mysticism  is  thus  brought  abruptly  to  a  stand,  and 
can  neither  proceed  nor  recede,  it  may  veer  with  any  fancy  that 
may  casually  possess  itself  of  the  aimless  wayfarer.  It  may 
hymn  the  unintelligible  prayer: 

"Oh  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible;" 

but  it  knows  not  then  what  it  desires.  The  remembrance  of 
minds  made  better  by  its  presence  would  scarcely  compensate 
a  soul  for  the  annihilation  necessarily  supposed  in  its  absorption 
in  the  divine  (one  Element).  The  wish  is  itself  a  contradiction. 
Selfishness  in  some  form  is  the  basis  of  every  desire,  and  the 
gratification  of  this  desire  is  frustrated  in  granting  it.  incorpor- 
ate the  soul  in  the  choir  invisible,  merge  it  in  the  all-pervading 
Spirit,  the  ineffable  Unity,  and  its  individuality  is  extinguished; 
it  is  no  longer  a  self  to  have  a  desire  gratified.  The  "blindness 
to  the  future  kindly  given"  renders  it  impossible  for  any  one  to 
intelligently  formulate  a  wish  as  to  his  future,  the  full  fruition 
of  which  he  really  believes  would  be  ultimately  gratifying  to 
him.  Few,  if  any  persons,  know  just  what  they  really  desire  in 
time,  and  none  have  ever  looked  back  over  their  lives  with 
entire  satisfaction. 

The  rhapsodist  says,  "It  is  not  in  an  arbitrary  decree  of 
God,  but  in  the  nature  of  man,  that  a  veil  shuts  down  on  the 
facts  of  to-morrow :  for  the  soul  will  not  have  us  read  any 
other  cipher  but  that  of  cause  and  effect.  By  this  veil,  which 
curtains  events,  it  (the  soul)  instructs  the  children  of  men  to  live 
in  to-day."  If  the  nature  of  man  is  not  an  arbitrary  decree  of  God, 
it  would  be  very  interesting  indeed  to  know  what  it  is.  The 
proposition  is  a  palpable  play  upon  words.  If  a  man  believes 
that  to-day  has  for  him  any  relation  to  to-morrow,  he  cannot 
believe  that  the  curtaining  of  events  instructs  him  to  live  in 
to-day.  If  he  could  read  the  cipher  of  cause  and  effect  (as  the 
soul  allows)  events  would  not  be  very  securely  curtained. 
To-day's  causes  have  their  effects  in  to-morrow's  facts,   and  if 


LITERARY    SUFISM.  483 

man  could  read  their  cipher  they  were  not  veiled.  If  there  is 
for  man  any  relation  between  the  causes  of  to-day  and  the 
effects  forming  the  events  of  to-morrow,  he  is  not  compliment- 
ed in  the  proposition  that  he  is  instructed  to  live  in  to-day  by 
the  curtaining  of  events.  On  the  same  principle  it  may  be 
urged  that  the  less  one  knows  the  better  he  is  instructed. 

If  the  nature  of  man  is  not  an  arbitrary  decree  of  God,  then 
He  has  rendered  no  arbitrary  decree  for  man.  All  religious  phi- 
losophy proceeds  upon  the  theory  that  God  made  man,  and 
that  he  had  no  assistance  and  took  no  counsel  in  the  enterprise. 
If  it  is  correct  in  this,  then  the  nature  of  man  must  be  an  arbi- 
trary decree  of  God.  As  man  can  see  no  reason  why  he  should 
be  of  such  a  nature  as  such  philosophy  represents  him,  the  de- 
cree must  always  appear  arbitrary  if  not  capricious.  If  it  is  in 
"the  nature  of  man  that  a  veil  shuts  down  on  the  facts  of  to- 
morrow" it  must  be  also  in  some  kind  of  decree  of  the  Creator; 
for  if  He  made  man,  man's  nature  must  be  His  decree. 

These  gems  of  the  rhapsodist  are  figurative  flights  which  may 
mean  anything  or  nothing,  and  any  one  thing  as  well  as  any 
other.  They  are  aimless,  empty,  inflated  ravings  of  an  egotistic 
lunacy,  intoxicated  with  its  own  self-conceit.  A  biographer 
says  of  him — "To  the  arts  and  processes  of  the  logician  he 
.  pays  no  regard,  evidently  believing  that  they  tend  to  belittle 
rather  than  exalt  the  truth.  He  simply  affirms  what  he  be- 
lieves, making  his  appeal  at  every  step  to  the  moral  intuitions 
of  the  reader,  in  the  faith  that  the  Spirit  of  the  man  is  the  can- 
dle of  the  Lord,  with  a  power  of  illumination  equal  to  every 
emergency." 

No  truth  which  the  human  mind  can  comprehend  as  a  truth 
can  be  illogical.  •  To  say  that  Emerson  affirmed  what  he  be- 
lieved, does  not  indicate  his  belief  in  a  very  substantial  or  defi- 
nite form.  In  all  that  he  has  written  there  is  very  little  that  is 
definitely  affirmed.  The  above  specimens  from  his  casket  fairly 
represent  the  gems  it  contains ;  and  their  settings  are  correspond- 
ingly grotesque.  If  any  man  shall  derive  an  available  hint 
therefrom  his  candle  (of  the  Lord)  must  throw  a  strong  light. 
To  rely  upon  the  moral  intuitions  of  the  reader,  expecting 
his  spirit  to  illuminate  for  himself  the  devious  and  dubious  obs- 


484  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

curity,  and  to  make  something  for  himself  of  the  nothing  of  the 
philosopher  or  rhapsodist,  is  to  admit  the  worthlessness  of  the 
rant,  it  may  mean  one  thing  to  Smith,  another  thing  to  Jones, 
and  nothing  whatever  to  Brown ;  according  to  their  respective 
moral  intuitions,  if  they  have  them. 

If  it  is  supposed  that  the  arts  and  processes  of  the  logician 
tend  to  belittle  truth,  it  certainly  cannot  be  supposed  that  vacil- 
lating sophistry  and  maudlin  mysticism  tend  to  exalt  it.  Who- 
ever disregards  logic  cannot  be  loyal  to  truth.  The  ground 
which  is  common  to  both  and  indispensable  to  each  is  consist- 
ency. Neither  of  them  can  be  conditioned  upon  any  so-called 
moral  intuitions  of  the  reader.  These  may  be  as  various  as  the 
several  tastes  and  temperaments  of  the  several  readers,  and  may 
vary  from  time  to  time  in  one  and  the  same  reader. 

The  rhapsodist  however  startles  us  with  his  own  consis- 
tency, in  openly  rejecting  all  consistency.  He  exclaims — 
"With  consistency  a  great  soul  has  simplv  nothing  to  do. 
He  may  as  well  concern  himself  with  his  shadow  on  the  wall. 
*  *  *  To  be  great  is  to  be  misunderstood."  If  the  con- 
verse of  this  last  proposition — to  be  misunderstood  is  to  be 
great— were  true,  then  the  rhapsodist  was  truly  great;  that  is,  if 
his  mysticism  really  has  a  meaning.  Think  of  the  grovelling 
flunkeyism  which  gapes  in  amazement  at  the  genius  so  learn- 
edly and  authoritatively  declaring  what  neither  its  readers  nor  its 
writer  ever  understood — from  the  simple  fact  that  it  contains 
nothing  to  be  understood,  or  even  misunderstood. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

SUBSTANCE    OF   THE    UNSUBSTANTIAL. 

Unification  of  Opinion  Unattainable — More  Confusion  than  Conviction  Results 
From  Philosophy — Reasoning  Adds  Nothing  to  Knowledge — Knowledge 
Cannot  be  Less  than  Certainty — First  Conscious  Experiences  are  Not 
Knowledge — Experiences  Must  be  Accumulated  and  Coordinated,  to  Con- 
stitute Knowledge — No  Original  Sense  Perceptions — No  Knowledge  Orig- 
inal so  as  to  be  Distinguishable  from  Acquired  Knowledge — No  Sound  Phil- 
osophy can  Consist  of  or  be  Based  on  Assumption — Affections  Cannot  be 
Perceived  as  Extended — Mmd  not  Substance — The  Mental  Cannot  be  Di- 
vorced from  the  Physical — Incipient  Sensibility  a  Degiee  of  intelligence — ■ 
No  Knowledge  Starts  in  Thought — Science  Cannot  Precede  its  Data — 
Mind  is  not  Simply  Thought  Conscious  of  Itself — If  each  Thought  Involves 
Its  Own  Contradictory  it  Cancels  Itself — Memory  is  Duration  of  Thought 
and  is  Necessary  to  Thought  Itself — Impressions  the  Basis  and  Content  of 
all  Intelligence — The  Real  is  Real  Independent  of  Sensation — Cogito  ergo 
sum  absurd — No  one  Ever  Had  the  idea  of  God  as  the  Absolutely  Perfect 
Being — Truth  is  Invariable — Belief  is  Involuntary  and  Must  be  Caused — 
Accountability  for  Belief  is  Unintelligible. 

Speculative  disquisition  generally  proceeds  upon  the  theory 
that  thought  and  its  expression  may  be  systematized.  Philos- 
ophers dictatorially  address  themselves  to  the  human  mind  and 
posit  the  possibility  of  unification  of  opinion.  Nothing  could 
be  more  illogical.  On  reflection  it  must  have  occurred  to  them 
that  in  presenting  their  doctrines,  the  validity  of  which  is  only 
argued,  not  demonstrated,  they  assume  the  existence  of  the 
very  qualities  or  properties  of  mind  which  would  render  all 
philosophy  nugatory.  They  would  have  observed  that  their 
own  substantive  knowledge  is  the  product  of  experiences,  many 
of  which  were  the  experiences  of  others.  The  results  of  the 
experiences  of  others  they  may  have  appropriated  in  various 
ways,  but  mainly  by  observation.  Among  their  observations 
would  occur  the  fact  that  of  all  the  plausibilities  ever  urged 
upon  man  as  truth,  they  never  knew  one  that  could  stand  a 
fair  examination,  or  that  could  silence  inquiry.  Also  that 
among  the  great  Galaxies  of  Genius  enlightening  the  race,  there 
is  such  discord  that  more  confusion  than  conviction  results 
from  the  promulgation  of  their  doctrines. 


486  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

If  the  brain  is  the  nervous  center  where  consciousness  and 
power  over  the  voluntary  movements  abide,  and  if  in  composi- 
tion it  averages  about  three  fourths  water,  and  the  residue  with 
slight  inequality  is  albumen,  fat,  and  salts  containing  phos- 
phoric acid,  it  might  seem  that  whatever  would  make  an  im- 
pression on  one  mind,  would  make  a  like  impression  on  all 
minds  developed  in  like  brains.  Such  seems  to  have  been  the 
idea  with  which  each  philosopher  has  set  out  to  revolutionize 
and  systematize  thought — and  this  in  the  face  of  the  fact  that 
his  own  substantive  knowledge  is  had  by  the  same  means  by 
which  he  must  know  that  no  philosophy  can  be  conceived  of 
as  adequate  to  meet  the  demands  of  mind.  Experience,  includ- 
ing observation,  must  have  shown  them  this  before  they  had 
attempted  the  excogitation  of  their  own  respective  schemes. 

The  Author  of  an  alleged  psychology  says,  "experience, 
properly  speaking,  is  only  a  repetition  and  collection  of  what 
we  have  passed  through,  and  if  there  be  not  knowledge  in  the 
original  experiences  it  cannot  be  had  by  a  accumulating  them. 
As  little  can  it  be  had  by  reasoning,  except  from  premises 
which  contain  certain  knowledge  of  material  objects;  without 
this  there  would  be  an  evident  illicit  process,  that  is,  we  have 
no  more  in  the  conclusion  than  we  have  in  the  premises."  If 
one  has  certain  knowledge  of  material  objects  in  his  premises, 
it  is  not  apparent  that  he  could  by  reasoning  add  to  this  certain 
knowledge.  But  it  is  apparent  that  the  term — certain  know- 
ledge— is  itself  an  abuse  of  terms.  Anything  less  than  certainty 
cannot  be  knowledge,  and  the  reasoning  process  is  idle,  unless 
it  be  to  classify  and  arrange  the  knowledge  had  in  the  premises. 
Its  deductions  are  vain  if  the  conclusion  cannot  have  more  than 
is  contained  in  the  premises,  and  it  certainly  cannot  have  more 
(substantively)  if  they  must  contain  certain  knowledge  of 
material  objects  before  the  conclusion  can  contain  it.  If  less 
.than  certainty  could  be  knowledge,  reasoning  might  do  more 
than  classify  and  arrange,  and  aid  in  assimilation;  it  might 
place  its  deductions,  its  inferences,  its  plausibilities  and  its 
learned  guess-work  into  the  conclusion,  and  add  to  the  volume 
of  knowledge  an  indetlnite  volume  of  uncertainty. 


SUBSTANCE  OF  THE  UNSUBSTANTIAL.  487 

In  another  connection  the  Professor  says,  "If  the  mind  did 
not  begin  with  knowledge  it  could  never  reach  it  by  any  pro- 
cess of  thought.  *  *  *  If  we  have  not  knowledge  in  the 
premises,  we  are  not  entitled  to  put  it  into  the  conclusion." 
Yet  he  proceeds  to  put  the  results  of  his  own  processes  of 
thought  into  an  alleged  philosophy.  If  the  mind  must  begin 
with  knowledge,  no  process  of  thought  is  necessary  in  order 
to  reach  it.  If  the  process  of  thought  cannot  reach  knowledge 
unless  the  mind  begins  with  it,  the  process  cannot  create 
knowledge,  and  hence  cannot  add  to  that  with  which  the 
mind  begins.  At  most  it  can  only  classify,  arrange,  and 
assimilate;  and  its  deductions  can  never  be  more  than  mere 
plausibilities — they  are  void  for  uncertainty. 

The  Professor  had  lived  in  a  world,  and  among  men.  He 
must  have  had  experiences,  repetitions  and  collections  of  what 
he  and  they  had  passed  through.  Among  these  must  have 
been  the  observations  that  he  never  knew  a  mind  to  begin 
with  knowledge,  that  philosophy  uniformly  fails  to  unify  and 
systematize  thought,  and  that  it  was  never  known  to  meet  the 
demands  or  silence  the  inquiry  of  mind ;  even  those  of  the  mind 
by  which  it  was  itself  in  any  instance  excogitated.  Among 
his  experiences  he  must  have  had,  or  supposed  he  had  such 
knowledge,  or  he  could  not  have  legitimately  supposed  an 
occasion  for  his  own  scheme.  If  among  his  experiences  he 
had  or  supposed  he  had  such  knowledge,  he  still  could  not 
have  legitimately  supposed  any  occasion  for,  or  utility  of  his  own 
scheme,  because  his  experience  must  have  shown  the  neces- 
sity of  its  failure. 

Having  declared  that  if  he  had  not  knowledge  in  his  origi- 
nal experience  it  could  not  be  reached  by  any  process  of 
thought,  it  must  have  been  the  knowledge  which  he  had  in 
such  experiences,  and  that  alone,  which  he  was  entitled  to  put 
into  his  conclusion.  His  conclusion  then  could  be  no  more 
than  a  mere  arrangement  of  his  empirical  knowledge;  his  phil- 
osophy would  necessarily  be  a  classification  and  assimilation  of 
the  knowledge  contained  in  his  original  experiences,  including 
of  course  the  knowledge  of  the  necessary  futility  of  all  philos- 
ophy.    As  his  experiences  must  have  embraced  the  observa- 


488  ETHICS  OF    LITERATURE. 

tion  of  the  universal  failure  of  philosophy  to  unify  and  system- 
atize thought,  and  satisfy  the  demands  and  silence  the  inquiry 
of  mind,  this  must  have  been  part  of  the  knowledge  which  he 
was  entitled  (obliged?)  to  put  into  his  conclusion  (philosophy); 
and  by  it  he  must  have  known  that  his  own  conclusion  would 
necessarily  be  equally  futile.  The  very  basis  then  of  his  alleged 
philosophy  is  self-destructive.  It  declares  the  necessity  of  the 
failure  of  the  scheme  to  be  erected  thereon. 

To  meet  the  skepticism  of  Hume  he  holds    "that  our  first 
conscious  experience  does  not  consist  of  impressions,  but  is  a 
knowledge  of  things;  that  we  have  sense  perceptions  which 
are  original  and  not  derived,  and  that  if  they  were   not   given 
us  by  original  endowment  they  could  never  be  obtained  by 
experience,    by   inference,    or   any   other   process."      Here   it 
should  be  shown  that  there  is  an  essential  difference  between 
impressions  and  a  knowledge  of  things;  and  this   difference 
should  be  shown  to  be  in  kind  and  not  simply  in   degree.     It 
supposes  a  marvelous  precocity  to  hold  that  our  first  conscious 
experience,  as  distinguished  from  impressions,  is  a  knowledge 
of  things.     It  is  exceedingly  refined  to  hold  that  there  is  a  dis- 
tinctive difference  between  experience  and   impressions.     No 
impression  can  be  had  without  an  experience;  and  no  experi- 
ence can  evoke  consciousness  without  makina:  an    impression. 
Our  first  conscious  experience  arises  when  first  some  object  is 
so  presented  to  the  sensuous  faculty  as  to  evoke  a  sensation  of 
which  we  are  conscious;  and  no  other  sensation  is  supposable. 
At  that  time  we  could  not  have  a  substantive  knowledge  of 
the  object  so  presented.     None  of  its  relations  besides  those  of 
space  and  time  could  then  be  cognized  by  us,  and  the  only 
substantive  knowledge  of  it  that  we  can  ever  have  must  be  an 
acquaintance  with  it  in  its  relations  to  other  objects.     It  cannot 
be  without  such   relations,   and  until  they  are  cognized  it  is 
nothing  intelligible  to  us.     As  we  can  ascertain  those  relations 
only  by  accumulating  experiences,  it  follows  that  our  first  con- 
scious experience  cannot  be  a  knowledge  of  things,  but  that  it 
is  a  mere  impression.     By  our  first  conscious  experience  we 
are  merely  impressed  with  an  idea  of  the   being   of  the  thing; 
we  can    know    no    more   of  it  than  that  it  is,  then  and  there. 


i 


SUBSTANCE   OF   THE   UNSUBSTANTIAL.  489 

While  we  may  know  that  it  is  not  of  this  or  that  i<ind,  such 
knowledge  is  purely  negative  and  is  not  a  knowledge  of  the 
thing. 

Things  of  whose  existence  we  are  ignorant  may  be  de- 
scribed to  us,  and  the  mind  may  thus  be  prepared  to  apprehend 
them.  Then  when  they  are  so  presented  to  the  sensuous 
foculty  as  to  evoke  sensation,  there  may  be  a  cognition  amount- 
ing to  recognition  of  them.  But  this  is  more  than  our  first  con- 
scious experience  of  the  thing.  It  is  that,  in  addition  to  the 
preparation  of  the  mind  (in  the  description  given)  to  utilize  the 
first  conscious  experience  in  the  acquisition  of  a  knowledge  of 
the  thing.  If  a  complicated  electrical  mechanism  is  first  seen 
by  one  who  never  knew  or  heard  of  such  thing,  or  of  electrical 
appliances  or  action,  he  has  his  first  conscious  experience  of 
that  thing  in  the  sight  of  it.  He  may  then  have  the  negative 
knowledge  that  it  does  not  belong  to  this  or  that  class  of  things, 
and  also  the  positive  knowledge  that  it  is  then  and  there;  but 
this  is  not  a  substantive  knowledge  of  it. 

We  have  a  conscious  experience  in  every  sensation.  But 
they  must  be  accumulated  and  coordinated  if  we  are  to  have 
a  knowledge  of  the  things  causing  them.  If  our  first  conscious 
experience  were  really  a  knowledge  of  things,  it  must  be  a  very 
meagre  knowledge.  It  seems  that  it  cannot  be  more  than  an 
impression,  and  necessarily  a  vague  impression.  Deflniteness 
may  come  with  the  multiplication  of  experiences  and  distinc- 
tion between  them;  that  is,  by  experiences  of  the  thing  in  vari- 
ous relations;  and  as  these  are  accumulated  and  coordinated 
the  acquisition  of  a  knowledge  of  the  thing  is  going  on.  Such 
knowledge  must  be  the  sum  of  our  impressions,  and  the  more 
they  are,  and  the  better  coordinated,  the  greater  our  knowl- 
edge. Still,  to  be  strictly  logical,  we  must  hold  that  we  never 
have  more  than  impressions,  which,  when  accumulated  in 
various  amounts,  and  coordinated  in  various  ways,  the  vari- 
ous philosophers  call  by  the  more  dignified  name  of  knowl- 
edge. From  such  data  they  proceed  in  a  thousand  different 
directions  to  amplify  the  sum  of  this  so-called  knowledge,  by 
reasoning  out  to  results  as  variant  from  each  other  and  the 
truth,  as  their  delirious  vagaries  can  be  from  physical    demon- 


400  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

stration,  claiming  thereby  to  add  to  the  sum  of  knowledge. 
The  difficulty  which  is  necessarily  fiital  to  each  of  their  claims 
is  the  fact  that  knowledge  is  not  vague  or  uncertain;  that  to  be 
knowledge  it  must  be  definite  and  certain. 

To  say  that  we  have  sense  perceptions  that  are  original  and 
not  acquired,  means  nothing  intelligible  to  any  human  mind. 
We  are  ourselves  derived,  and  we  cannot  conceive  of  an  im- 
pression as  more  original  than  ourselves.  Original  endowment 
is  no  more  than  inheritance  of  faculty  and  ancestral  bent.  If  we 
have  sense  perceptions  they  are  acquired.  At  nativity  we  cer- 
tainly have  nothing  of  the  kind;  the  mind  is  a  blank — or  rather 
there  is  no  mind.  We  then  have  a  mysterious  mechanism  in 
the  use  of  which  a  mind  may  develope.  All  educational  effort 
is  necessarily  based  upon  the  idea  that  the  kind  and  quality  of 
mind  that  shall  develope,  depend  largely  upon  the  use  made  of 
this  mechanism.  If  it  is  not  used  at  all,  no  mind  can  develope; 
and  there  certainly  cannot  be  any  perception  where  there  is  no 
mind.  This  mechanism  is  variously  affected  by  contact, 
through  the  sense  organs,  with  things.  This  is  its  use.  These 
affections  are  sensations.  Their  repetition,  variety,  and  co- 
ordination may  develope  perceptions,  the  aggregate  of  which 
may  constitute  or  contribute  to  the  constitution  of  mind.  The 
earlier  shocks  of  pain  are  recoiled  from  mechanically,  and  the 
subject  perceives  nothing.  In  profound  sleep  consciousness  is 
suspended,  yet  the  subject  will  shrink  in  the  part  affected  by 
any  thing  that  nettles  it.  If  the  term  were  admissible  at  all, 
sense  preceptions  cannot  be  original,  although  our  capacity  for 
them  may  be  as  original  as  ourselves. 

Legitimate  reasoning  about  bodv  does  not  necessarily  imply 
a  primitive  cognition  on  which  it  proceeds.  Acquired  percep- 
tions do  not  necessarily  imply  primary  ones  on  which  they 
proceed.  No  mind  ever  started  with  a  knowledge  of  body 
occupying  space,  or  had  any  knowledge  whatever  until  it  was 
acquired.  One  need  not  always  be  vividly  conscious  of  his 
acquisition  of  knowledge,  and  this  may  be  the  basis  of  the 
common  exclamation — I  always  knew  that.  But  this  means 
no  more  than  that  I  do  not  remember  having  learned  that.  It 
does  not  imply  primitive  cognition,   primary  perception,    nor 


SUBSTANCE  OF  THE  UNSUBSTANTIAL.  49 1 

original  knowledge.  There  is  a  time  to  each  mind  (or  the 
organism  in  which  mind  manifests  itself)  when  it  has  no 
knowledge.  The  idea  of  original  knowledge  is  irreconcil- 
able with  the  idea  of  acquired  knowledge.  We  well  know 
that  we  acquire  some  knowledge;  and  we  are  unable  to  distin- 
guish any  of  our  knowledge  from  such  in  kind  as  we  know  we 
have  acquired.  We  could  only  know  that  we  have  original 
knowledge,  by  knowing  that  we  have  knowledge  differing 
from  any  acquired  knowledge,  and  further  knowing  that  we 
never  acquired,  but  always  had  it. 

Strictly  speaking,  we  cannot  by  combining  experiences  and 
reasoning  from  them  add  indefinitely  to  our  knowledge.  To 
know  that  we  thus  add  to  our  knowledge,  we  must  know  that 
the  reasoning  process  adopted  is  the  only  one  legitimately 
admissible  in  the  particular  case.  Another  process  might 
lead  to  the  absurdity  of  a  conflicting  knowledge.  The  known 
difference  in  the  results  of  apparently  plausible  processes  of 
leasoning  from  the  same  facts,  shows  that  there  is  no  means  of 
knowing  that  we  add  to  our  knowledge  by  rea.soning  from  our 
combined  experiences.  There  are  too  many  theories  of  phil- 
osophy now  in  vogue,  and  their  advocates  and  adherents  are 
too  solicitous  for  them,  for  any  mind  to  repose  in  security  that 
they  contain  and  consist  of  knowledge. 

Philosophy  cannot  consist  of  assumptions,  nor  be  legiti- 
mately based  upon  them.  If  perception  is  a  property  of  mind, 
just  as  gravitv  is  a  property  of  matter,  it  should  be  more  con- 
stant than  we  know  it  to  be.  Gravity  of  matter  is  not  devel- 
oped, but  is  absolutely  constant.  If  matter  under  different 
circumstances  manifests  apparently  different  degrees  of  gravity, 
it  is  because  the  circumstances  change  the  condition  of  matter, 
if  not  the  matter  itself.  A  saturated  sponge  will  weigh  exactly 
the  same  that  it  would  weigh  when  dry,  plus  the  weight  of  the 
fluid  absorbed  in  saturating  it.  Any  fuel  will  weigh  exactly 
the  same  that  its  debris  would  weigh,  plus  the  weight  of  the 
gases  liberated  (generated?)  in  its  consumption.  Gases  are  not 
without  weight,  and  they  ascend  instead  of  descend,  simply 
because  in  proportion  to  volume  the  atmosphere  is  heavier  than 
they  are.     But  the  gravity  of  matter  remains  constant.     In  its 


492  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

beginning,  mind  has  little  or  no  perception.  Later,  and  under 
favorable  circumstances,  it  may  have  a  great  deal.  In  disease 
it  may  diminish,  and  it  may  increase  again  on  restoration  to 
health.  If  it  is  a  property  of  the  mature  and  healthy  mind,  it 
is  not  as  so  gravity  is  a  property  of  matter,  it  is  an  acquired 
and  a  variable  property,  and  not  an  original  and  constant  one. 
if  the  affections  of  the  sense  organs  may  all  be  perceived  as 
in  a  certain  direction,  they  certainly  cannot  be  perceived  as 
extended — otherwise  than  in  time.  To  suppose  their  extension 
in  space  is  absurd.  They  cannot  have  length,  breadth,  or  thick- 
ness. Spatial  extension  implies  material  substance,  form, 
divisibility,  and  gravity.  A  shadow  implies  only  that  light  is 
partially  excluded  from  a  certain  place.  We  cannot  so  pro- 
perly say  that  a  shadow  extends  throughout  or  over  that  place, 
as,  that  light  is  partially  excluded  therefrom.  If  mind  were  act- 
ually known  to  be  a  substance,  the  question  immediately  arises, 
what  is  substance.  If  the  affirmation  that  mind  is  substance  is 
made  on  the  same  ground  as  we  maintain  that,  body  is  sub- 
stance, it  necessarily  implies  that  mind  is  a  material  substance. 
It  is  never  known  to  be  apart  from  body.  It  is  well  known 
that  it  is  not  body,  for  body  is  frequently  known  to  be  without 
it.  Body  is  a  solid  material  substance,  and  it  is  affirmed  that 
mind  is  a  substance,  on  the  same  ground  that  we  maintain  that 
body  is  a  substance.  The  Professor  then  has  two  solid 
material  substances,  occupying  precisely  the  same  place,  at 
precisely  the  same  time.  Worse  than  this;  mind  must  have 
length,  breadth,  thickness,  divisibility,  gravity,  density,  and 
molecular  motion.  Its  particles  must  integrate  and  disinte- 
grate, as  the  particles  of  water  are  now  in  a  glacier,  now  in  a 
stream,  now  in  a  cloud,  again  in  some  form  of  vegetal  life, 
and  again  in  the  brain  of  some  philosopher,  giving  to  his  mind 
its  gravity,  and  perhaps  its  density. 

In  these  days  scarcely  any  one  would  venture  upon  a 
psychology  without  reference  to  physiology  and  anatomy. 
The  Professor  accompanies,  and  attempts  to  illustrate  and  en- 
force his  propositions  with  diagrams  of  the  nervous  organism. 
He  seems  to  recognize  that  the  mental  cannot  be  divorced  from 
the  physical.     If  sensibility  is  a  germ  of  cognition,  or  if  it  is  it- 


SUBSTANCE    OF    THE    LINSUBSTANTIAL.  4q} 

self  incipient  cognition,  it  is  still  a  mere  quality  or  property  oi 
matter — the  matter  composing  the  nervous  mechanism,  if 
phosphorescence  is  a  factor  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge, 
conducing  thereto  in  the  retention  of  impressions  on  the  living 
cells,  it  is  still  a  mere  quality,  property,  or  state  of  matter — the 
matter  composing  such  cells.  It  is  said  that  sensibility  first  ap- 
pears in  unicellular  vegetal  existences.  That  as  cells  are  more 
denselv  grouped,  sensibility  becomes  more  distinctly  evident, 
until  in  man  they  produce  those  phenomena  defined  ///  concreto 
as  the  moral  sense.  That  calorific  and  luminous  impressions 
affect  vegetal  cells,  that  plants  catch  insects,  are  sensitive  to 
touch,  turn  toward  the  sun,  and  discern  points  of  support. 
That  every  motion  is  preceded  by  sensibility.  If  this  is  true, 
and  mind  is  not  divorced  from  matter,  it  is  simply  an  abuse  of 
terms  to  say  that  mind  is  itself  a  substance;  and  absurd  to  say 
that  it  begins  its  intelligent  act  with  a  knowledge  of  things. 
If  mind  were  a  substance,  it  could  be  separated  from  other  sub- 
stance, and  itself  remain  substance.  No  one  can  imagine  a 
mind  as  existing  apart  from  some  substance  which  he  knows 
is  not  mind.  The  very  thought  of  mind  brings  with  it  a 
countenance,  a  human  figure,  at  least  a  living  organism. 
When  we  know  that  life  has  left  such  organism,  we  may 
easily  conceive  of  its  substance  as  utterly  devoid  of  mind, 
while  all  the  substance  composing  it  is  known  to  remain 
intact.  If  the  living  organism  weighs  and  measures  the  same 
as  the  dead,  the  departure  of  mind  is  not  the  departure  of 
substance. 

It  is  further  said  that  by  the  terminal  nervous  expansions, 
open  to  all  that  comes  to  impress  them,  external  phenomena 
become  incarnate  in  us.  This  is  the  commencement  of  intelli- 
gent action.  The  process  does  not  start  with,  but  it  produces, 
conscious  sensibility  and  impressions;  v\^hich  are  more  vivid  as 
they  are  incorporated  more  and  more  with  the  organism.  If 
moral  sensibility  is  engendered  by  the  arrival  and  persistence 
of  impressions  in  the  sensorium,  mind  is  no  more  a  substance 
than  feeling  and  color  are  substances.  One  may  continue  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge,  the  developement,  enlargement,  and 
expansion  of  his  mind  indefinitely;  and  with  ordinary  cranial 


494  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

capacity  he  need  not  worry  himself  about  storage.  In  a  few 
cubic  inches  of  space,  ah'eady  filled  with  a  few  ounces  of  ma- 
terial substance,  he  will  always  be  able  to  stow  away  all  his 
mental  acquisitions;  he  will  always  have  room  for  all  the  mind 
he  may  develope.  Should  it  be  objected  that  if  mind  is  not 
substance  there  is  no  warrant  for  the  expression — substantive 
knowledge — I  may  say  that  1  have  used  it  only  to  distinguish 
between  knowing  somewhat  of  a  thing,  and  knowing  merely 
its  being.  1  not  only  concede.  I  insist,  that  we  have  no  right 
to  use  the  term  knowledge  at  all,  except  to  distinguish  the 
strength  of  convictions,  resulting  trom  aggregated  and  coor- 
dinated impressions.  The  truth  is,  these  still  remain  mere  im- 
pressions, and  we  really  know  very  little  if  anything. 

From  the  simplest  histological  irritability,  to  the  most 
exquisite  sensibility,  the  transition  is  by  almost  imperceptible 
degrees,  until  it  results  in  man  in  a  manifestation  of  mind. 
Some  forms  and  measures  of  sensibility  we  know  can  not 
amount  to  mind,  but  it  differs  from  the  sensiblity  in  man 
which  does  amount  to  mind,  only  in  degree,  in  the  lowest  as 
in  the  highest  organisms,  and  the  intermediate,  it  is  simply  a 
condition  or  state,  so  far  as  substantive  material  existence  is 
concerned.  The  more  finely  the  subject  is  organized,  the  more 
exquisitely  it  may  feel  and  express  its  sensibilities;  and  hence 
the  more  intellectual  it  may  be.  That  persons  in  similar  cir- 
cumstances and  with  equal  effort  attain  to  different  degrees  of 
proficiency,  implies  difference  in  the  organization  of  their  respec- 
tive nervous  mechanisms.  To  say  that  because  mind  has  a 
discernible  potency,  it  must  be  a  substance,  is  as  absurd  as  to  say 
that  fever  and  epilepsy  are  substances,  because  each  of  them 
has  a  discernible  potency.  They  prostrate  and  rack  the 
strongest  men.  Unless  the  needle  is  heavier  arid  larger  when 
magnetized  than  before,  magnetism  is  not  a  substance,  and  yet 
it  has  a  visible  potency,  though  like  fever  and  epilepsy  and 
mind,  it  is  itself  invisible. 

It  is  idle  to  attempt  to  get  back  to  a  fundamental  prin- 
ciple in  philosophy;  yet  the  founder  of  one  of  the  so-called  Ger- 
man Systems  maintains  that  all  knowledge  must  start  in  thought 
simply.     But  as  he  foils  to  inform  us   from  whence  thought 


SUBSTANCE   OK    THE    UNSUBSTANTIAL.  493 

starts,  we  are  as  far  from  the  source  of  knowledge  as  ever.  He 
maintains  that  logic — the  science  of  thought — is  the  first  part  of 
the  system  of  knowledge.  But  this  is  to  make  one  science  a 
mere  datum  for  another  science;  or,  it  is  to  make  knowledge 
more  than  a  science;  and  the  science  of  logic  merely  a  primary 
component  element  in  the  construction  or  formation  of  know- 
ledge. The  process  becomes  so  involved  and  intricate  that  by 
the  time  knowledge  shall  be  reached  the  mind  will  have  so  be- 
wildered itself  that  it  will  not  know  the  difference  between 
knowledge  and  guess-work.  Thought  must  be  some  part  of 
knowledge  if  there  is  knowledge.  No  science  can  precede  its 
data.  The  substance  must  be  at  least  as  early  as  its  form.  No 
mind  can  intelligently  conceive  of  a  truly- scientific  science  as 
containing  nothing;  or  as  being  an  improvised  outline  to  be 
filled  in  with  after-acquired  material.  Before  logic  can  be, 
thought  must  be;  and  it  cannot  be  without  content.  Logic 
then  cannot  be  in  order  until  some  other  part  of  the  supposed 
knowledge  shall  have  appeared.  Thought,  its  derivation  and 
content  must  precede  Logic,  if  the  latter  is  the  science  of 
thought. 

The  German  further  maintains  that  thought  is  transformed 
into  something  outside  itself  in  nature,  the  philosophy  of 
which  is  the  second  part  of  knowledge;  and  that  by  a  kind  of 
reflection  in  nature  thought  becomes  conscious  of  itself,  thereby 
producing  mind.  Then  mind  would  be  simply  its  own  con- 
sciousness of  the  thought  composing  it,  which  is  absurd,  if 
the  positions  in  the  system  were  intelligible,  they  are  still 
untenable,  if  logic  has  any  part  in  the  system,  it  is  to  drive  the 
philosopher  successively  from  each  position.  To  say  that 
knowledge  starts  from  thought  simply,  is  a  mere  waste  of 
words  which  express  nothing.  It  brings  us  no  nearer  the 
source  of  knowledge.  No  knowledge  has  risen  above  the 
sphere  of  thought,  and  none  has  approached  nearer  to  the 
absolute  than  thought.  We  cannot  imagine  a  knowledge  as 
being  more  than  a  coordinated  aggregation  of  thought — 
verified  in  various  processes  of  ratiocination,  and  in  what  some 
dogmatists  denominate  demonstration. 


4q6  ethics  of  literature. 

The  German  further  maintains  that  every  thought  necessar- 
ily involves  its  own  contradictory,  and  thereby  adds  to  its  own 
content;  and  that  by  a  combination  of  contradictories  we 
arrive  at  absolute  knowledge.  This  would  be  getting  there 
with  celerity.  It  would  be  gratifying  if  the  mind  could  mount 
to  the  pinnacle  of  its  highest  aspiration  of  its  own  momentum, 
and  by  simply  combining  the  two  contradictories  which  must 
be  present  in  its  every  thought.  If  every  thought  necessarily 
involves  its  own  contradictory,  then  the  contradictory  is  already 
in  and  a  part  of  each  thought — even  the  thought  that  the  con- 
tradictory is  contradictory.  Thought  then  cancels  itself,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  combine,  and  no  addition  to  be  made.  If 
the  conception  of  un-ity  is  not  more  positive  than  the  contra- 
dictory conception  of  plurality,  and  if  either  is  necessarily  in- 
volved in  the  thought  of  the  other,  we  may  attempt  to  imag 
ine  a  parallel  for  the  result,  in  attempting  to  imagine  the  con- 
sequence if  two  irresistible  and  impervious  bodies,  moving  in 
diametrically  opposite  directions  should  meet.  To  maintain 
that  thought  passes  outside  itself  in  nature,  and,  reverberating, 
becomes  conscious  of  itself  in  mind,  may  mean  something  to 
some  minds.  Possibly  there  are  philosophers  who  can  imagine 
a  thought  passing  outside  itself.  But  it  is  difficult  to  imagine 
what  remains  within,  where  the  thought  passes  to,  and  what 
it  becomes  outside  itself  If  it  continues  to  be  thought  it  can- 
not get  very  far  outside  itself  and  if  it  is  not  originally  con- 
scious of  itself  it  cannot  be  a  very  vivid  thought.  Had  the 
German  in  the  beginning  asked  himself  the  question — what  is 
thought  ?  and  then  set  himself  diligently  to  answer  it  intelligi- 
bly before  giving  the  world  his  philosophy,  there  would  pro- 
bably have  been  less  learned  wrangling  over  the  purport  and 
plausibility  of  the  Hegelian  svstem.  It  would  never  have  seen 
daylight.. 

Thought  necessarily  implies  memory,  and  it  cannot  be  so 
transitory  as  to  have  no  duration.  Its  duration  is  memory. 
Memory  is,  or  seems  to  be,  retained  or  revived  thought. 
Science  claims  that  a  physical  excitation  is  transformed  into  and 
becomes  an  impression  by  means  of  the  action  of  the  nervous 
plexus  which  may  happen  to  be  affected  by  the  particular  ex- 


SUBSTANCE  OF  THE  UNSUBSTANTIAL.  497 

citation.  That  by  virtue  of  their  phosphorescence  the  peripheral 
nerve-cells  retain  records  of  the  stimulations  which  have  caused 
them  to  vibrate.  That  the  community  of  the  peripheral  and 
central  regions  is  such  that  while  the  peripheral  region  remains 
susceptible  to  excitations,  the  central  remains  capable  of  its 
function  in  the  process  resulting  in  thought;  and  that  when  the 
peripheral  plexus  is  anaesthetized,  central  perception  (thought) 
is  impossible.  That  the  anaesthetic  condition  of  the  sensitive 
peripheral  plexus  prevents  the  registration  (retention)  of  the 
impressions,  and  hence  prevents  their  persistence.  That  feeble 
excitations  make  only  faint  impressions,  and  iteration  is  neces- 
sary to  their  persistence  and  the  consequent  evolution  of  mem- 
ory. That  when  sensorial  cells  are  set  vibrating,  they  are 
sensitized,  according  to  the  character  of  the  excitation ;  and  that 
the  nerve  immediately  concerned  transmits  intelligence  (feel- 
ing ?)  of  the  excitation  to  the  sensorium,  and  also  of  the  pain  or 
pleasure  characterizing  it.  The  result  is  said  to  be  thought. 
Then  thought  which,  when  aggregated  and  coordi-nated  con- 
stitutes mind,  is  merely  an  immaterial,  evanescent  element, 
which  cannot  be  more  than  a  mere  affection  or  state  of  nerve 
substance.  It  is  so  far  from  being  itself  a  substance,  that  it  is 
only  such  an  affection  or  state  as  the  particular  excitation  may 
cause  the  nerve  substance  to  take  on.  If  thought  is  not  sub- 
stance, then  mind  cannot  be  substance,  unless  mind  is  other  or 
more  than  aggregated  and  coordinated  thought;  and  it  cannot 
be  conceived  to  be  other  or  more.  Thought  cannot  be  aggre- 
gated and  coordinated  unless  retained  or  revived  during  the 
process,  and  it  cannot  evolve  from  the  primary  impressions  on 
the  living  cells  unless  such  impressions  persist.  The  substance 
of  mind  then  is  very  unsubstantial;  and  thought  simply  is  not 
the  starting  point  of  knowledge. 

Impressions  may  be  retained  with  their  respective  co-effici- 
ents (whatever  these  are)  which  recall  the  pleasure  or  pain  of 
their  original  incorporation  with  the  particular  plexuses;  and 
in  this  experience  they  may  become,  by  means  of  the  tendencies 
thev  beget,  the  pivot  of  all  intelligent  action.  If  so  they  are  the 
basis  and  content  of  all  intelligence,  for  there  is  no  intelligence 
but  is  intelligent  action.      When  and  how  impressions  ever 


498  ETHICS  OF    LITERATURE. 

become  more  than  impressions  is  not  apparent.  It  is  said  tiiat 
the  mental  impressions  we  are  supposed  to  have  when  think- 
ing of  an  absent  thing  is  an  idea  of  that  thing.  ■  It  would  be 
more  accurate  to  say  it  is  a  retained  or  revived  impression  or 
sensation.  It  is  also  said  that  the  idea  is  thus  contrasted  with 
the  sensation,  or  feeling  we  have  when  the  senses  are  engaged 
directly  with  the  thing,  that  the  idea  is  the  impression  we  have 
in  thinking  of  the  absent  thing.  It  is  also  said  that  the  sensa- 
tion is  what  constitutes  the  thing  the  reality ;  while  the  impres- 
sion, persisting  or  restored,  in  the  absence  of  the  thing  is  the 
idea.  This  is  learnedly  and  finely  wrought.  But  its  substance 
is  of  more  consequence  than  its  form.  Its  absurdities  are 
apparent.  Sensation  cannot  constitute  anything  a  reality. 
Whatever  is  a  reality  at  all  is  such  independent  of  sensation. 
Its  presence  directly  to  the  senses  of  one  person  may  evoke  in 
him  one  kind  of  sensation,  while  to  another  it  may  evoke  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  sensation.  Its  presence  to  the  senses  of  one  may 
be  indirect  or  at  second-hand.  One  may  hear  or  read  of 
a  thing  of  which  his  informant  may  have  had  a  direct, 
or,  perhaps,  an  indirect  and  second-hand  impression.  In 
such  case  he  has  an  idea  of  the  thing  without  having  had  a 
sensation  or  impression  arising  from  the  direct  engagement  of 
any  of  his  senses  with  it.  There  may  be  many  to  whose 
senses  the  thing  is  never  present,  directly  or  indirectly.  If  the 
thing  is,  it  is  a  reality  although  these  never  experience  or 
realize  it.  To  say  it  is  not  a  reality  to  them  is  simply  a  labori- 
ous and  elegant  wav  to  say  they  are  not  cognizant  of  it.  One 
gets  an  idea  of  the  thing  when  he  gets  his  information  of  it, 
whether  the  information  comes  at  second-hand,  or  by  direct 
engagement  of  the  senses  v/ith  the  thing.  If  the  idea  is  in  all 
cases  necessarily  the  result  of  his  impressions  and  sensations  of 
the  thing,  then  the  communication  of  information  at  second- 
hand is  an  experience  evoking  a  sensation  and  an  impression  of 
the  thing.  The  thing  itself  may  not  be  at  all.  But  by  means  of 
indirect  information  one  has  the  idea  of  it,  which  idea,  accord- 
ing to  the  above  propositions  is  the  sum  of  impressions,  which 
impressions  cannot  be  without  sensation.  If  sensation  consti- 
tutes the  thing  the  reality,  the  inventive  enthusiast  may  apprise 


SUBSTANCE  OF  THE  UNSUBSTANTIAL.  499 

US  of  things,  his  chimerical  creations,  and  we  must  get  ideas  of 
them.  These  ideas  are  sums  of  our  impressions.  Impressions 
necessarily  presuppose  sensations,  and  sensations  constitute  the 
things  the  realities.  Space  might  be  crowded  to  suffoca- 
tion with  realities  so  constituted.  This  is  the  necessary  logical 
result  of  the  proposition  that  sensation  constitutes  the  thing  the 
reality. 

When  such  propositions  necessarily  lead  to  such  absurdity, 
it  is  strange  that  an  alleged  theology  would  tremble  at  the 
menacing  mien  of  an  alleged  skepticism  which  affects  to  regard 
all  external  phenomena  as  having  no  existence  apart  from  the 
thinking  subject.  It  is  in  keeping  with  the  fear  of  such  aimless 
emptiness,  to  attempt  to  refute  it  in  such  exclamations  as — "I 
think,  therefore  I  am."  There  would  be  more  sense  in  such 
ejaculations  if  the  subject  had  not  been  before  he  had  thought— 
if  it  was  known  that  at  no  time  during  his  being  he  had  not 
thought. 

It  is  said  that  the  Apologist  who  based  certitude  on  self- 
consciousness,  reasoned  therefrom  that  whatever. could  be 
clearly  and  distinctly  thought  must  be  true.  That  among  his 
clear  and  distinct  thoughts  he  recognized  the  idea  of  God  as 
the  absolutely  perfect  Being.  That  this  idea  could  not  be  formed 
by  us  because  the  imperfect  could  not  originate  the  perfect. 
That  hence  the  idea  must  be  an  inherent  element  of  the  under- 
standing. That  from  the  existence  of  the  idea  the  being  of 
God  is  necessarily  inferable,  because  no  other  could  originate 
in  us  the  idea.  That  the  result  is  proof  of  the  being  of  God, 
because  we  have  the  idea  which  no  other  than  Him  could 
originate  in  us.  The  fatal  flaw  in  all  this,  however,  is  the  fact 
that  no  one  ever  had  the  idea  of  God  as  the  absolutely  perfect 
Being.  Such  an  idea  is  as  far  above  human  capacity  as  infinity 
is  above  the  finite. 

While  Descartes  appeared  more  than  a  hundred  years  before 
Hume,  yet  it  was  to  answer  such  a  skepticism  as  that  of  the 
latter  that  the  former  argued,  that  the  Originator  in  us  of  the 
idea  of  an  absolutely  perfect  Being  must  be  that  Being;  that  He 
cannot  deceive;  and  that  whatever  our  God-given  conscious- 


500  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

ness  clearly  testifies  must  be  true.  But  insuperable  difficulties 
appear.  We  know  of  great  diversity  of  supposed  opinion  of 
the  supposed  perfect  Being;  and  that  such  diversity  implies 
error.  We  know  that  it  is  impossible  to  formulate  or  have  in 
the  mind  an  intelligible  idea  of  such  Being;  and  that  we  have 
never  known  any  two  minds  to  have  formulated  or  had  identi- 
cal conceptions  of  Him,  nor  indeed  any  complete  conception  of 
Him  whatever.  If  all  psychical  experience  is  to  the  effect  that 
the  God-given  consciousness  and  idea  of  the  absolutely  perfect 
Being  produce  iniinite  diversity  and  irreconcilable  conflict  of 
opinion,  which  cannot  in  any  instance  be  intelligibly  formulated 
in  the  mind,  the  certitude  based  on  such  consciousness  and 
idea  cannot  be  very  reliable.  Truth  admits  of  no  variation. 
If  certitude  depends  upon  the  clearness  and  distinctness  with 
which  we  can  think  the  supposed  truths,  it  is  as  variant  as  the 
capacities  and  caprices  of  the  thinking  subjects.  If  external 
phenomena  have  no  reality  apart  from  the  thinking  subject, 
then  a  great  deal  of  that  which  we  think  we  know  is  not  yet 
fully,  real,  because  many  thinking  subjects  have  not  yet  thought 
it.  And  a  great  deal  of  the  same  supposed  truth  is  as  various 
in  import  and  content  as  the  several  intellectual  capacities  of  the 
several  of  our  fellows  who  think  they  know  the  same  supposed 
truth.  The  absolutely  perfect  Being  would  have  a  diflerent 
form,  and  be  of  a  different  character  for  each  and  every  indi- 
vidual consciousness  in  which  there  was  the  idea  which  none 
but  He  could  originate. 

It  is  extremely  unfortunate  for  apologetics  that  it  cannot 
invoke  the  aid  of  philosophy  without  obliging  itself  to  abide 
the  necessary  results  of  the  philosophic  propositions  it  makes. 
If  it  could  appropriate  philosophy's  trite  truisms  without 
their  necessary  logical  consequences,  it  might  make  a  great 
display  of  the  wisdom  of  words,  without  serious  injury  to  its 
own  supposed  philosophy.  But  the  data  and  principles  of 
philosophy  are  inexorable — they  go  only  with  their  logic. 

It  is  a  part  of  history  that  where  religion  is  divorced  from 
state,  apologetics  actively  exerts  itself  to  enforce  its  supposed 
beliefs.     With  this  fact  in  view  it  is  said  that,    "The  applica- 


SUBSTANCE  OF  THE  UNSUBSTANTIAL,  SOI 

tion  of  Strong  motives  of  the  nature  of  reward  and  punishment 
is  sufficient  to  cause  one  creed  to  prevail  rather  than  another, 
as  we  see  in  those  countries  and  in  those  ages  where  there 
has  been  no  toleration  of  dissent  from  the  established  religion. 
The  masses  of  the  people  have  been  in  this  way  so  fenced  in 
from  knowing  any  other  opinions,  that  they  have  become  con- 
scientiously attached  to  the  creed  of  their  education."  In  other 
words,  and  more  accurately,  they  have  been  made  the  slaves 
of  the  powers  enforcing  the  doctrines  of  the  church  to  which 
the  state  was  wedded.  In  the  absence  of  political  coercion 
apologetics  is  more  active  in  its  efforts  and  by  its  sophistries  to 
make  them  its  dupes. 

Where  church  and  state  are  divorced,  the  tables  are  turned, 
and  there  is  like  to  be  little  toleration  of  assent  to  the  tenets 
of  the  prevailing  religions,  among  those  who  affect  superior 
intellectual  attainment.  The  reward  in  popularity,  and  the 
punishment  in  ridicule,  are  almost  as  strong  motives  in  the  in- 
tellectually free  state,  as  the  penalties  by  which  assent  to 
unintelligible  doctrines  are  enforced  in  the  religiously  slave 
state. 

Where  political  power  no  longer  enforces  adherence  (belief.^) 
and  science  seems  about  to  make  it  appear  ridiculous,  apolo- 
getics claims  akin  to  this  same  science,  and,  by  sophistries  un- 
worthy its  cause,  it  attempts  to  make  religion  appear  philoso- 
phic. Both  labor  to  enforce  what  each  seems  to  regard  beliefs. 
Apologetics  seems  to  think  that  science  regards  the  religious 
believer  a  fool,  and  attempts  to  sanction  his  belief  from  science's 
own  premises;  at  the  same  time  holding  the  wavering  adherent 
accountable  for  unbelief.  If  it  proceeds  from  the  premises  of 
science  it  necessarily  admits  their  validitv-  In  such  case  there 
can  be  no  accountability  for  unbelief,  and  hence  no  occasion  for 
the  solicitude  of  apologetics. 

Scientifically  belief  is  involuntary.  It  must  be  produced  by 
an  efficient  cause.  What  that  cause  shall  be,  and  how  it  shall 
operate,  are  not  within  the  individual's  control.  If  he  has 
innate  proclivities  tending  him  to  this  or  that  belief,  he  either 
inherits  or  acquires  them.  These  vary  with  the  various  results 
of  the  transmitted  experiences  which  make  up  his  native  ten- 


502  ETHICS   OF  LITERATURE. 

dencies,  and  with  the  tendencies  acquired  in  his  enviroment, 
over  neither  of  which  he  has  any  control.  H'  he  turns  this  or 
that  factor  in  his  enviroment  to  bad  account  it  is  because  he  is 
so  constituted  as  to  do  so.  Accountability  for  belief  is  unintel- 
ligible. It  very  unjustly  requires  stultification.  It  argues 
nothing  to  say  that  creeds  have  been  enforced  by  the  sanction 
of  penal  laws.  Men  "fenced  in  from  knowing  any  other 
opinions"  cannot  be  said  to  have  intelligently  believed  the 
enforced  creeds.  And  apologists  are  not  ready  to  admit 
that  any  other  than  intelligent  belief  can  be  belief.  If  men 
know  no  other  creed  than  the  one  enforced  upon  them, 
it  is  not  their  belief.  It  is  the  creed  of  others  administered  to 
•them,  and  acquiesced  in  by  them.  They  are  the  truckling  slaves 
of  Fashion  or  of  some  other  power,  blindly  accepting  whatever 
Authority  proposes;  they  are  not  intelligent  thinkers  really 
believino^. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PIOUS    FRAUD    IN    LITERATURE. 

The  Hebrew  Exodus  not  Demanded  by  any  Racial  Characteristic — Bad  Economy 
Ot  the  Movement — The  Egyptian  the  Most  Ancient  Civilization — The 
Stronger  Side  the  Better  side — Success  the  Measure  and  Proof  of  Merit — 
Moral  Law  said  to  Inhere  in  the  Nature  of  Things,  and  Execute  Itself 
Through  the  Instrumentality  of  Men — Then  Christianity  is  an  Imposture, 
and  Duty  an  Absurdity  Without  Sin  There  Can  be  no  Purpose  in  Religion — 
Religion  Should  Cut  the  Acquaintance  of  Science  and  Reason — Original  Sin 
is  the  Bedrock  of  Calvinism — Cowardice  of  Apologetics — Burning  of  Servetus 
— The  Choice  of  the  Almighty — if  He  Exercises  Choice  Hhe  Cannot  be 
Almighty — Religious  Systems  Compete  for  Favor  of  Man — Parallels  Be- 
tween Various  Systems — Whatever  Begins  in  Time  Must  Run  the  Usual 
Course  and  End  in  Time — The  Facts  of  History  Cannot  be  Marshalled  to 
the  Establishment  of  any  Comprehensible  System. 

In  speaking  of  the  exodus  of  the  Hebrews,  a  very  promi- 
nent personage  in  modern  literature  declared  that  "Their  leader 
had  been  trained  in  the  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians,  and  learnt 
among  the  rocks  of  Sinai  that  it  was  wind  and  vanity.  The 
half  obscured  traditions  of  his  ancestors  awoke  to  life  again, 
and  were  rekindled  by  him  in  his  people.  They  would  bear 
with  lies  no  longer.  They  shook  the  dust  of  Egypt  from  their 
feet,  and  the  prate  and  falsehood  of  it  from  their  souls,  and 
withdrew  with  all  belonging  to  them  into  the  Arabian  desert, 
that  they  might  no  longer  serve  cats,  and  dogs,  and  bulls,  and 
beetles,  but  the  Eternal  Spirit  who  had  been  pleased  to  make 
his  existence  known  to  them." 

Siippressio  verj,  Siiggestio  falsi;  and  the  declaration  illus- 
trates how  difficult  it  is  for  religious  partizanship  to  adhere  to 
the  truth.  It  was  made  in  a  lecture  on  Calvinism  in  1871  in 
one  of  the  oldest  and  most  aristocratic  Universities  in  Christ- 
endom; where  f^icts  incompatible  with  its  necessary  implica- 
tions and  imputations  must  have  been  as  well  known  as  those 
upon  which  the  Rector  based  his  learned  libel  on  the  most 
venerable  civilization  known  to  history ;  the  civilization  at  the 
light  of  which  that  of  Greece  obtained  its  torch.  From  data  as 
available  as  that  v/hich  he  utilized  he  must  have  known  that  if 
the    Hebrews    withdrev/    with  all  belonging   to   them,    they 


S04  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

also  took  a  great  deal  not  belonging  to  them.  That  if  they 
shook  the  dust  of  Egypt  from  their  feet,  they  did  not  shake  the 
gold  of  the  Egyptians  from  their  persons.  That  instead  of 
shaking  the  flilsehood  of  Egypt  from  their  souls  that  they 
might  no  longer  worship  animals,  their  leader  was  barely  out 
of  camp  on  his  second  Sinaitic  embassy  till  they  were  sacrific- 
ing to  a  calf  made  of  the  gold  they  had  lately  stolen  from  their 
Egyptian  neighbors.  And  that  if  they  would  bear  with  lies  no 
longer,  they  would  bear  with  theft,  idolatry,  and  lascivious 
barbarity.     So  a  half  truth  becomes  a  whole  falsehood. 

If  the  half  million  men  simply  rose  up  (as  the  Rector  re- 
marks) and  declared  that  they  could  no  longer  endure  the"  men- 
dacity, the  hypocrisy,  the  vile  and  incredible  rubbish  which 
was  offered  to  them  in  the  sacred  name  of  religion,  it  is  strange 
they  so  soon  counter-mutinied  and  forsook  the  Eternal  Spirit 
who  had  been  pleased  to  make  his  existence  known  to  them, 
and  consecrated  themselves  to  a  calf  of  their  own  make.  If  the 
Egyptians  had  offered  them  in  the  sacred  name  of  religion,  any 
rubbish  that  was  more  vile  and  incredible  than  that,  we  are  not 
informed  what  it  was.  The  necessary  implication  of  the 
Rector's  remark  is,  that  during  their  four  hundred  years  subjec- 
tion to  Egvpt,  and  notwithstanding  their  leader  was  trained  in 
the  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians,  and  only  learnt  from  the  Lord 
among  the  rocks  of  Sinai  that  it  was  wind  and  vanity,  yet  the 
Hebrews  had  maintained  their  own  ancient  racial  character- 
istics and  a  predilection  for  the  theology  of  their  ancestors;  and 
that  as  a  race  they  required  a  change  from  the  vile  and  incredi- 
ble rubbish  of  their  masters.  There  can  be  but  one  motive  for 
the  attempt  to  give  the  affair  such  color.  That  is  to  obviate 
Reason's  objection  of  the  preposterous  in  a  supposed  divine 
deliverance,  by  basing  the  movement  upon  a  supposed  racial 
requirement.  And  even  this  is  at  cross-purpose  with  the  logic 
of  history,  for  no  race  was  ever  known  to  remain  so  long  the 
slaves  of  their  intellectual  inferiors. 

The  apologist  who  attempts  thus  to  account  for  the  alleged 
exodus  does  his  cause  neither  service  nor  credit.  If  the  move- 
ment was  in  fact  made,  and  if  our  information  of  it  is  authentic, 
the  cause  cannot  be  served  or  credited  by  reasoning,  and  it  is 


PIOUS    FRAUDS   IN    LITERATURE.  505 

both  cowardly  and  impolitic  to  attempt  to  account  for  the 
movement  differently  from  the  way  it  is  already  accounted  for 
in  such  information.  The  half  million  men  gave  the  Eternal 
Spirit  as  well  as  their  leader  too  much  trouble  during  the  move- 
ment for  their  revolt  against  the  vile  and  incredible  rubbish  of 
the  Egyptians  to  have  been  the  result  of  a  generally  prevailing 
religious  sentiment  among  them.  The  record  of  their  rambles 
is  a  wearisome  repetition  of  revolts  against  the  same  Eternal 
Spirit  whose  worship,  the  Rector  declares,  was  with  them  a 
racial  requirement.  The  same  record  shows  that  they  returned 
to  their  idols  too  soon  and  too  often  to  have  been  very  thor- 
oughly disgusted  with  the  vile  and  incredible  rubbish  of  the 
Egyptians. 

If  their  leader  was  trained  in  the  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians 
it  is  not  likely  that  the  masses  retained  their  racial  characteris- 
tics with  such  tenacity  as  to  reject  the  rubbish  which  he  only 
learnt  among  the  rocks  of  Sinai  was  wind  and  vanity.  The 
masses  of  slaves  are  seldom  so  far  in  advance  of  their  leaders. 
If  a  theologian  or  an  apologist  is  not  content  with  the  biblical 
account  of  the  alleged  deliverance  of  the  Hebrews;  if  he  desires 
to  curry  favor  with  skeptical  intelligence  by  basing  the  move- 
ment on  reasonable  grounds,  and  still  allows  the  plagues  and 
the  Red  Sea  incident  to  remain,  he  should  have  had  the  east 
wind  wall  up  the  waters  again,  and  have  counter-marched  the 
Hebrews  back  to  the  depopulated  possessions  of  their  late 
masters.  The  first  born  of  Egypt  were  all  slain,  and  Pharaoh 
with  all  his  host  v/as  drowned.  If  Egvpt  was  not  a  land 
flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  the  Hebrews  would  at  least 
have  found  things  better  prepared  for  housekeeping  than  thev 
were  beyond  Jordan,  to  say  nothing  of  the  tiresome  tramp 
through  the  desert.  If  one  proposes  to  account  for  an  alleged 
spiritual  manifestation  on  physical  grounds  and  make  the 
supernatural  appear  reasonable,  he  should  attend  to  such  detail ; 
and  not  attempt  to  obscure  incongruity  by  glozing  over  it  in 
perfunctory  fashion.  The  thinker  may  wonder  why  the 
masses  were  so  devout  as  to  dash  through  the  Red  Sea  on  one 
day,  and  so  refractory  as  to  be  murmuring  against  their  inspired 
leader  on  the  next.     If  Canaan  was  in  fact  a  better  land  for  the 


S06  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

chosen  than  Egypt,  the  same  miraculous  Power  that  drowned 
the  heirs  of  the  world's  recent  proveditors  could  (four  centuries 
before)  have  prevented  the  famine  in  Canaan;  and  there  would 
have  been  no  occasion  for  the  four  hundred  years  of  servitude, 
nor  for  the  extermination  of  Pharoah's  hosts,  nor  for  the  butch- 
ery ot  the  various  ites  and  bites  and  tites  v/ho  were  found  in 
the  promised  land.  If  reason  were  equipped  with  such  power 
it  would  have  taken  a  short  cut  to  results,  and  the  chosen, 
instead  of  being  the  scourge  and  reproach  of  the  race  would 
have  been  the  favorites  of  all  nations.  The  apologist  who 
attempts  to  find  reason  for  a  miracle,  or  in  a  miracle,  must 
either  dissimulate  with  his  reader  and  himself,  or  cancel  the 
miracle;  or,  what  is  more  likely,  he  will  become  involved  in  a 
labyrinth  of  unintelligible  nothings. 

If  Moses  was  trained  in  the  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians,  and 
learnt  among  the  rocks  of  Sinai  that  it  was  wind  and  vanity, 
he  learnt  that  it  was  such  only  in  comparison  with  the  wisdom 
which  he  learnt  among  those  rocks.  The  wisdom  of  the 
Egyptians  had  been  the  religion  of  civilization  for  thousands  of 
years.  Its  rites  were  being  performed  in  temples  when  an 
Arabian  wanderer  was  whetting  the  knife  to  cut  the  throat  of 
his  only  legitimate  son,  as  he  lay  bound  upon  the  altar  at 
Jehovah-jireh,  a  mountain  in  the  solitude  of  the  desert.  When 
Moses  returned  to  Egypt  from  his  first  Sinaitic  embassy,  (the 
trip  occasioned  by  some  loose  talk  among  his  own  people  of 
one  of  his  own  murders)  and  demanded  the  deliverance  of  the 
Hebrews,  it  seems  to  have  become  necessary  to  emphasize  the 
demand  in  the  performace  of  some  extraordiary  feats.  The 
Power  that  commissioned  him  to  make  the  demand,  also 
hardened  Pharaoh's  heart  so  he  would  reject  it.  Reason  would 
have  shrunk  from  such  duplicity.  If  the  Lord  wanted  a  pre- 
text for  the  punishment  of  Pharaoh,  it  would  have  to  be  found 
without  recourse  to  the  aid  of  reason.  But  something  super- 
natural had  to  be  done  in  order  to  convince  Pharaoh  of  the 
divine  authority  for  the  demand  of  the  surrender  of  that  which 
for  centuries  had  been  an  essential  component  in  the  body 
politic,  to  one  of  his  own  slaves.  It  is  strange  that  divine 
Power  would  give  an  earnest  of  its  own  divinity  in  changing  a 


PIOUS    FRAUDS    IN    LITERATURE.  5O7 

Stick  into  a  serpent  instead  of  some  one  of  the  numberless 
other  creatures  in  nature  for  which  such  Power  had  not 
expressed  such  abhorrence.  When  Aaron  attempted  to  con- 
vince Pharaoh  by  changing  his  rod  to  a  serpent,  so  far  from 
being  disturbed  by  the  manifestation,  Pharaoh  called  in  a 
number  of  his  own  priests  who  immediately  changed  their  rods 
to  serpents.  So  far  they  were  even  in  the  manifestation  of  the 
same  power — at  least  power  of  the  same  kind — that  of  making 
serpents.  That  Aaron's  serpent  then  swallowed  theirs  argues 
nothing  (philosophically)  more  than  that  his  was  the  largest 
and  most  voracious  reptile;  the  difference  in  the  power  mani- 
fested being  merely  in  degree,  and  not  in  kind.  If  Reason 
were  about  to  demonstrate  the  divinity  of  Moses  and  Aaron's 
authority  by  the  exhibition  of  such  power,  it  would  not  have 
allowed  the  Egyptian  Priests  the  ability  to  imitate  it  in  any 
respect  or  to  any  extent.  Reason  would  have  the  hiatus 
between  the  divine  and  human,  to  say  nothing  of  the  diabolical, 
impassable;  or  at  least  so  great  that  there  could  be  no  sem- 
blance of  a  competition  between  them  when  it  comes  to  con- 
vincing men  or  attaining  ends.  If  we  contemplate  this  scene 
or  any  part  of  it  from  reasonable  ground,  we  see  the  Almighty 
resorting  to  all  sorts  of  subterfuges  and  expedients  to  accom- 
plish that  which,  if  He  is  almighty,  He  could  have  accom- 
plished directly.  Reason  would  never  have  attributed  such 
double-dealing  to  Him. 

Truckling  to  reason  the  Rector  robs  the  Deity  of  the  glory 
of  having  miraculously  delivered  the  chosen  from  the  fetters  of 
their  oppressors,  and  attributes  the  revolt  to  the  inherent  merit 
and  manliness  of  the  oppressed.  Having  run  superficially 
over  several  other  religious  revolts  he  says :  "When  men  have 
risen  in  arms  for  a  false  cause,  the  event  has  proved  it  by  the 
cause  coming  to  nothing.  The  world  is  not  so  constituted 
that  courage,  and  strength,  and  endurance,  and  organization, 
and  success  long  sustained,  are  to  be  obtained  in  the  service  of 
falsehood.  If  I  could  think  that,  I  should  lose  the  most  con- 
vincing reason  for  believing  that  we  are  governed  by  a  moral 
power.  The  moral  laws  of  our  being  execute  themselves 
through  the  instrumentality  of  men;  and  in  these  great  move 


S08  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

merits  that  determine  the  moral  condition  of  many  nations 
through  many  centuries,  the  stronger  side,  it  seems  to  me,  has 
uniform!}'  been  the  better  side,  and  stronger  because  it  was 
better." 

His  doctrine  seems  to  be  that  nothing  succeeds  so  well  as 
success,  and  that  success  is  the  measure  and  proof  of  merit. 
I  believe  that  principles,  to  rise  to  the  dignity  of  the  name,  must 
be  inexorable  in  operation,  and  relentless  in  result,  if  we  apply 
the  manifest  principles  of  the  Rector's  own  reasoning  to  theol- 
ogy, his  favorite  faith  becomes  an  imposture.  If  Mohammedan- 
ism has  extirpated  eastern  Christianity,  and  usurped  its  place  in 
the  eastern  and  southern  Mediteranean  coasts  for  more  than 
twelve  centuries,  it  must  be  the  stronger,  and,  according  to  the 
Rector,  the  better  of  these  two  sides.  It  has  determined  the 
moral  condition  of  many  nations  through  many  centuries;  it 
has  vanquished  an  opposing  side,  so  it  must  be  the  stronger  of 
the  two;  if  the  stronger  is  stronger  because  it  is  better,  then  the 
Crescent  will  eventually  relegate  the  Cross  to  a  mere  memory 
of  an  obsolete  superstition  which  will  recur  most  vividly  in 
association  with  vague  reminiscences  of  the  stake,  the  axe,  the 
halter,  and  the  dungeon.  If  Buddhism  prevails  almost  as  ex- 
tensively as  all  other  isms  combined,  and  if  it  has  so  prevailed 
longer  than  any  known  ism,  it  must  be  the  best  of  all  sides. 
Courage,  and  strength,  and  endurance,  and  organization,  and 
success  long  sustained  have  been  obtained  in  its  service;  so  it 
cannot  be  a  falsehood.  As  neither  history,  nor  tradition,  nor 
imagination,  can  take  us  back  to  the  origin  of  the  vile  and  in- 
credible rubbish  which  the  Egyptians  offered  the  Hebrews  in 
the  sacred  name  of  religion,  nor  number  the  masses  who  had 
from  the  inftincy  of  time  accepted  and  enforced  it  as  a  religion, 
it  must,  on  the  same  principle,  have  been  an  infinitely  good 
side,  and  it  could  not  have  been  a  falsehood.  The  service  of 
cats,  and  dogs,  and  bulls,  and  beetles,  was  then  the  highest  and 
the  holiest  best  of  heaven ;  for  courage,  and  strength,  and  endur- 
ance, and  organization,  and  success  long  sustained,  had  been 
obtained  in  such  service. 

The  Rector  assumes  the  airs  and  proportions  of  a  logician 
and  philosopher,  and  confidently  stakes  the  validity  and  super- 


PIOUS    FRAUDS    IN    LITERATURE.  5O9 

iority  of  his  theology  upon  what  he  calls  natural  principles. 
He  then  proceeds  to  urge  the  reasonableness  and  superiority  of 
his  doctrine  and  faith,  neither  of  which  can  be  intelligibly 
arranged  in  any  human  mind,  from  data  v/hich,  upon  his  own 
alleged  natural  principles,  necessarily  imply  its  inferiority  to 
each  of  the  three  other  theologies  above  named.  His  success 
is  his  ruin;  his  own  logic  makes  Christianity  an  imposture,  if 
the  stronger  has  uniformly  been  the  better  side  and  stronger 
because  it  was  better,  then  the  doctrinaire  of  free  will  and 
accountability  foi'  belief  concedes  away  Christianity's  claim  of 
validity,  when  he  says  it  degenerated  with  extreme  rapidity  in 
the  east,  conduced  to  the  enervation  and  decline  of  Rome,  and 
has,  except  at  times  of  unwonted  violence,  maintained  a  dis- 
sembling truce  with  fashionable  vice. 

If  the  moral  laws  of  our  being  execute  themselves  through 
the  instrumentality  of  men,  then  men  are  the  mere  instrumen- 
talities of  the  execution  of  such  laws.  To  harmonize  this 
automatism  with  personal  accountability  for  conduct  and  belief 
is  the  burden  of  the  learned  sophistry  of  apologetics.  Fanatics 
forever  seek  a  place  in  the  vocabulary  ot  man's  relative  being 
for  a  theological  interpretation  and  application  of  the  word 
ought.  So  interpreted  and  applied,  Reason  cannot  make 
it  dovetail  with  any  thing  therein.  While  we  cannot  effectu- 
ally get  rid  of  all  notion  of  duty,  it  is  still  impossible  to  formu- 
late in  the  mind  any  intelligible  conception  of  duty  or  personal 
accountability  under  a  system  where  moral  law  executes  itself 
through  the  instrumentality  of  men.  The  Rector  says  that 
moral  law  is  constant  and  continuous,  that  it  inheres  like  the 
law  of  gravity  in  the  nature  of  things,  and  that  we  must 
discern  and  obey  it  at  our  everlasting  peril.  Free  will  and 
personal  accountability  then  are  impossible,  and  the  notion  of 
duty  is  an  absurdity.  Law  is  restraint.  That  we  may  sin,  and 
suffer  inevitable  ill  therefor,  implies  no  freedom.  If  moral  law 
imposes  an  inevitable  ill  for  sin,  we  may  not  sin.  If,  neverthe- 
less, we  actually  do  sin,  and  suffer  the  inevitable  ill,  we  either 
rebel  or  we  are  mere  instrumentalities  in  the  execution  of  such 
law.  There  is  no  freedom  in  either  case,  and  instead  of  being 
restrained  from  sin  by  the   moral   law,  we  are   simply    con- 


5IO  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

Strained   to   suffer    in   its   execution   of    itself  through   us   as 
its  instrumentalities. 

The  notion  of  freedom  is  sometimes  enforced  in  illustrations 
from  the  execution  of  civil  law,  but  the  analogy  is  mainly  con- 
spicuous for  its  absence.  Civil  law  is  proverbially  inconstant, 
and  it  is  territorially  limited  in  application.  If  moral  law  exists 
as  claimed,  man  is  its  involuntary  subject  and  instrumentality, 
and  he  cannot  get  beyond  its  sv/ay.  Illustrations  in  physical 
consequences  of  conduct  are  even  more  inapt.  To  say  that 
certain  acts  hasten  or  determine  the  mode  of  pain  and  death, 
is  more  a  statement  of  fact  than  of  law.  But  allowed  as  a 
statement  of  law,  the  most  indiscreet  move  apologists  could 
make,  would  be  to  establish  that  such  physical  law  is  analo- 
gous to  the  alleged  moral  law.  If  such  law  exists  and  inheres 
like  the  law  of  gravity  in  the  nature  of  things,  then  no  religion 
can  have  any  validity,  unless  it  were  coeval  with  such  law. 
In  the  presence  of  such  supposed  law,  analogous  to  any  known 
physical  law,  all  supposable  religion  is  self-contradictorv.  If 
physical  death  ends  the  existence  of  the  individual  Ego,  future 
consequence  is  cancelled,  and  no  supposable  religion  can  have 
any  purpose.  Without  sin  there  is  no  conceivable  occasion 
for  any  religion.  All  religion  necessarily  supposes  sin  in  the 
present,  and  accountability  therefor  in  the  future  existence. 
Sin — the  violation  of  the  alleged  mora!  law — must  cause  or  en- 
tail the  ill  of  the  future,  for  if  religion  has  any  meaning,  by  its 
means  the  ill  of  the  future  may  be  averted,  the  future  existence 
may  be  made  to  be  good.  But  in  physical  law  no  conduct  can 
cause  or  entail  either  pain  or  death.  Their  time  and  form  or 
mode  may  be  determined  bv  conduct,  but  they  are  caused  and 
entailed  for  each  individual  at  birth,  and  bv  the  same  Power 
which  caused  the  individual  to  be.  By  physical  law  pain  and 
death  are  absolutely  certain  from  birth.  To  establish  that  it  is 
analogous  to  the  alleged  moral  law,  is  to  establish  that  all  souls 
are  hopelessly  damned. 

Were  religion  content  to  stand  upon  the  authority  of  divine 
Power,  and  refer  SkepJ;icism  to  miracle,  grace,  and  scriptural 
teachings  generally,  it  might  at  least  be  more  consistent  with 
itself.     But  when  it  attempts  to  claim    akin  to  Reason,  and 


PIOUS   FRAUDS   IN   LITERATURE.  S  I  I 

urges  an  alleged  moral  law  as  inherent,  like  the  law  of  gravity 
in  the  nature  of  things,  it  foredooms  all  men  to  the  very  dam- 
nation from  which  it  is  her  ostensible  office  to  save  them ;  or, 
forsooth,  such  of  them  as  are  elect  to  avail  themselves  of  the 
saving  grace.  It  overlooks  the  fact  that  saving  grace  is  itself  a 
violation,  evasion,  or  suspension  of  the  alleged  moral  law, 
which  is  said  to  inhere  like  the  law  of  gravity  in  the  nature 
of  things.  If  such  law  so  inheres,  redemption  is  a  failure, 
atonement  a  farce,  and  Christianity  an  unmeaning  imposture. 
Exposure  to  certain  physical  conditions  determines  inevit- 
ably the  time  and  mode  of  pain  and  death.  So  far  as  the 
subject  is  concerned,  the  exposure  may  be  designed  or  uninten- 
tional :  the  consequence  is  inevitably  the  same.  The  thought 
of  law  as  devoid  of  its  sanctions  cannot  be  arranged  in  the 
mind.  As  applied  to  reasonable  creatures  these  sanctions 
cannot  be  thought  otherwise  than  as  punitive.  No  one  can 
conceive  of  punishment  for  violated  law  except,  for  the  pur- 
poses of  law  at  least,  as  due  to  a  knowing  and  willing  violator 
of  such  law.  The  punishment  for  violation  of  law  must  be  for 
the  purposes  of  law,  for  the  Rector  says  it  executes  itself 
through  the  instrumentality  of  men.  Such  combinations  as 
are  indicated  by  the  use  of  such  terms  as  law  and  liberty, 
fate  and  free-will,  and  predestination  and  perseverance,  are 
unintelligible.  Yet  zealots,  professing  to  be  philosophers  have 
butchered  their  brethren  for  daring  to  interpret  the  senseless 
enigmas  in  a  sense  different  from  theirs.  One  of  the  most 
illustrious  of  modern  historians  attempts  to  vindicate  the 
character  of  one  of  the  infatuated  bigots  in  question.  We  have 
only  to  apply  his  own  logic  to  his  own  postulates  to  show 
that  his  success  must  be  ruinous  to  the  cause  in  which  the 
vindication  is  attempted. 

It  is  amusing  to  observe  one  who  affects  the  wisdom  of  a 
philosopher,  the  authority  of  a  historian,  and  the  integrity  of  a 
Christian,  to  say  nothing  of  the  humanity  of  a  human,  attempt- 
ing to  vindicate  a  brute  who  for  Christ's  sake  had  burned  a 
former  friend  for  daring  to  differ  with  him  in  opinion  concern- 
ing a  matter  of  which  neither  of  them  could  possibly  have 
more  than  an  opinion.     If  the  cast  of  cultured  thought  is  impor- 


SI2  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

tant  it  is  alarming  that  such  attempted  vindication,  served  up 
in  an  academic  lecture  could  be  relished  by  one  of  the  most 
aristocratically  educated  bodies  of  men  in  Christendom.  It  is 
absurd  to  attempt  such  vindication  in  an  argument  urging  duty 
and  personal  accountability  along  with  the  reality,  reasonable- 
ness, validity,  and  continuity  of  an  alleged  moral  law,  based 
upon  original  sin  and  predestination. 

The  bedrock  of  Calvinism  is  original  sin — that  all  men  ex- 
isted in  Adam,  and  hence  sinned  in  him.  The  word  all  is 
comprehensive,  and  if  Calvinism  is  true  then  Christ  must  have 
been  a  sinner.  Even  it  He  was  begotten  by  the  Holy  Ghost 
He  was  conceived  in  sin — in  the  llesh  which  had  existed  and 
sinned  in  Adam.  To  be  logical  and  not  irreverent  one  may 
say,  the  immaculate  conception  is  a  precedent  of  very  high 
authority  for  the  occasional  intrigues  of  the  clergy  with  which 
society  is  occasionally  scandalized.  Priesthood  is  not  without 
example  in  its  venerv  with  the  wives  and  the  betrothed  of  the 
laity.  To  allow  that  the  divine  begetting  obviates  the  neces- 
sity of  Christ's  being  born  in  sin,  is  to  allow  away  the  whole 
case.  It  necessitates,  or  rather  constitutes,  a  break  of  the  con- 
tinuity of  the  alleged  moral  law,  foists  miracle  into  the  room  of 
reason,  and  suspends  the  very  necessity  which  must  be  the 
basis  of  the  alleged  predestination.  The  miraculous  cannot  be 
reasonable,  and  the  reasonable  cannot  be  miraculous. 

If  all  men  existed  and  sinned  in  Adam,  still,  the  Almighty 
made  Adam,  and  hence  all  men.  The  Almighty  caused  all  who 
have  come  from  Adam  to  sin,  by  causing  them  to  exist  in  Adam. 
He  also  made  and  enforces  the  alleged  moral  law,  pursuant  to 
which  millions  of  millions  of  Adam's  "faithless  progeny"  yet 
unborn  are  already  damned.  The  holv  may  be  horrified,  but 
blasphemy  itself  is  reverence  in  comparison  with  the  logical  re- 
sults of  their  tenets.  They  are  the  brave  soldiers  of  the  Cross 
who  lower  its  banner  to  Science,  catch  at  the  hem  of  her  gar- 
ment, and  protest  that  moral  law  inheres — like  the  law  of 
gravity — in  the  nature  of  things. 

Because  Michael  Servetus,  "a  wicked  and  an  accursed 
Spaniard"  could  not  believe  his  God  to  be  such  a  monster  as 
Calvinism  necessarily  makes  Him,  the  hero  of  Froude's  learned 


PIOUS   FRAUDS   IN   LITERATURE.  SI3 

lecture  instigated  his  arrest  as  he  was  passing  peaceably  through 
Geneva,  and  procured  him  to  be  burned  at  the  stake.  If  moral 
law  inheres  as  is  claimed,  its  continuity  is  as  reliable  as  any 
feature  it  can  have.  The  very  term  implies  continuity  and  con- 
sistency. The  apologist  who  attempts  to  base  the  validity  of 
Christianity  upon  it,  cannot  concede  that  Christianity's  greatest 
expounder  and  defender  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  founder 
or  reviver  of  one  of  the  most  formidable  isms  that  ever  rent  and 
cursed  an}'  system,  was  a  mere  creature  of  an  erratic  era  and 
exceptional  circumstance.  The  miraculous  power  that  could 
so  impregnate  a  virgin  descendant  of  Adam  that  the  offspring 
could  be  born  immaculate,  notwithstanding  all  men  existed 
and  sinned  in  Adam,  was  not  so  exhausted  in  the  sixteenth 
century  that  its  principal  terrestrial  executor  was  a  beast 
from  necessity  of  circumstance  or  occasion.  The  apolo- 
gist must  hold — if  moral  law  inheres  like  the  law  of 
gravity — that  the  burning  of  Servetus,  done  in  "abhorrence 
of  all  conscious  mendacity,  all  impurity,  all  moral  wrong 
of  every  kind,"  is  an  example  of  Christian  service  worthy 
the  emulation  of  the  intolerant  bigots  of  the  same  faith  to  day. 
Otherwise  the  promulgator  of  an  accursed  fanaticism  was  as 
vile  a  brute  as  ever  dishonored  the  race ;  and  the  Rector  who 
declared  to  the  licentiates  of  St.  Andrews  in  1871,  that  all  there 
then  was  in  England  or  Scotland  of  a  conscientious  fear  of  do- 
ing wrong,  was  a  remnant  of  the  convictions  which  were 
branded  by  the  Calvinists  into  the  people's  hearts,  was  a  grace- 
less impostor.  If  there  is  indeed  a  moral  law,  and  if  it  inheres 
as  is  claimed,  then  the  champion  of  sixteenth  century  Christian- 
itv  is  now  realizing  how  hot  he  made  it  for  Servetus.  "For 
with  the  same  measure  that  ye  mete  withal  it  shall  be  measured 
to  you  again.''  If  the  flames  of  Hell  are  hotter  than  were  those 
which  arose  from  the  oak  fagots  on  the  Genevan  eminence  on 
October  27th,  1553,  they  also  have  a  worthier  subject. 

There  can  be  no  irrore  reliable  index  to  the  true  inv/ardness 
of  an  ism  than  the  conduct  of  its  promulgators  in  enforcing  it. 
The  interpretation  they  thereby  give  is  its  most  authentic 
exponent.  While  Calvinism  was  merely  a  revival  of  sixth 
century   Augustinianism,   yet   for   his  time,    Calvin   was  pre- 


514  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

eminently  the  Priest  of  the  dogma  of  original  sin,  predestina- 
tion, and  irresistible  grace.  If  these  are  real  and  mean  anything 
intelligible  to  the  human  mind,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  per- 
sonal duty  or  accountability.  Physical  punishment  for  so- 
called  immoral  conduct  is  worse  than  brutal,  and  incineration 
for  disbelief  in  such  absurdity  is  worse  than  diabolical.  If  the 
absolute  will  of  the  Almighty  "determines  the  eternal  destiny 
of  man,"  according  to  the  mere  choice  of  the  Almighty,  and  if 
those  "who  are  thus  foreordained  to  eternal  life  are  led  to 
believe  and  live  by  the  irresistible  grace  of  the  Holy  Spirit," 
then  man  is  entirely  irresponsible.  There  is  more  of  the  savage 
ferocity  which  usually  characterizes  religious  intolerance,  than 
of  the  severe  logic  for  which  Calvin  has  been  unduly  famed,  in 
the  idea  of  destroying  the  lives  of  those  who  cannot  believe  the 
hideous  libel  of  their  God.  The  mind  which  is  imbued  with 
such  belief,  cannot  imagine  the  Almighty  as  other  than  a 
monster  of  the  same  kind  as  the  ideal  of  such  doctrine,  magni- 
fied and  intensified  to  infinity.  The  difference  between  the 
Calvinistic  and  the  divine  cruelty  is  merely  in  degree.  In  the 
one  case  there  may  be  a  limit  to  the  mischief  to  be  done;  in  the 
other,  its  victims  are  divinely  assured  that  "the  smoke  of  their 
torment  ascendeth  up  forever  and  ever."  It  would  probably 
rise  pretty  high  during  two  evers.  The  idea  of  the  duration  of 
the  torment  is  about  as  reasonable  and  intelligible  as  any  other 
feature  of  the  divine  assurance.  It  is  more  nearly  reasonable 
than  the  idea  of  an  infinitely  powerful,  wise,  and  good  God 
having  a  choice  among  His  own  creatures  as  to  their  salvation; 
the  creatures  who  have  offended  Him  only  in  the  exercise 
of  the  fliculties  which  He  gave  them,  under  the  circumstances 
in  which  he  placed  them,  and  the  offence  itself  being  fore- 
ordained. 

If  all  who  shall  be  saved  are  already  elect,  if  they  are  pre- 
destined and  led  by  irresistible  grace  to  believe  and  live,  there 
can  be  no  duty  or  accountability  resting  on  any  individual  with 
relation  to  his  salvation.  The  Almighty  cannot  be  conceived 
to  have  any  such  thing  as  a  mere  choice  concerning  anything 
whatever.  Choice  implies  alternatives  between  which  the 
choice  must  be  made.     Place  your  God  in  these  straits,  and  He 


PIOUS    FRAUDS    IN    LITERATURE.  515 

is  not  Almighty.  A  greater  than  He  has  prescribed  the  alterna- 
tives. Nothing  could  be  more  irreverent  than  the  application 
of  the  word  must  to  the  action  prescribed  by  apologists  for 
their  supposed  Deity.  To  say  that  the  alleged  moral  law  is  so 
infinite,  eternal,  immutable,  and  universally  inherent  in  the 
nature  of  things  as  to  control  the  action  of  the  Almighty,  is  only 
a  confused  and  obscure  mode  of  declaring  that  He  is  subject  to 
some  Power  greater  than  Himself.  While  the  supposed  moral 
law  may  possibly  be  conceived  of  as  a  pure  abstraction,  no 
mind  can  conceive  it  to  have  any  efficacy  without  a  Power  be- 
hind it,  and  if  it  limits  or  in  any  way  restrains  the  action  of  the 
Almighty  that  Power  must  be  superior  to  Him,  and  He  is  not 
almighty.  Another  is  mightier  than  He.  Then  if  He  saves 
some  souls  through  His  own  mere  choice,  He  is  merely  licensed 
by  His  Superior  to  make  a  selection;  licensed  by  the  Power 
which  has  fixed  the  alternatives  between  which  He  must 
choose.  Individual  duty  and  accountability  are  thus  removed 
one  degree  further  from  possibility. 

Those  who  do  not  believe  are  already  damned;  indeed  they 
have  been  damned  before  they  have  been  at  all.  They  are 
mere  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  divine  Potter,  and  were  by  Him 
moulded  lor  hell  before  they  became  even  clay.  "In  human 
salvation,  therefore,  God's  will  is  everything,  man's  nothing." 
And  yet  man  is  accountable.  The  champion  of  such  doctrine 
in  the  sixteenth  century  burned  the  heretic  that  could  not 
believe  in  it.  His  encomiast  in  the  nineteenth  century,  in  a 
learned  discourse  upon  an  alleged  moral  law,  exhibits  such  a 
character  for  the  admiration  and  emulation  of  men,  and  points 
to  it  as  authority  for  the  dictum  of  duty  and  accountability  in 
connection  with  original  sin,  election,  predestination,  and  irre- 
sistible grace. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  a  human  mind  as  entirely 
devoid  of  religion.  Atheism  cannot  be  thought.  Yet  no 
religion  can  be  made  to  appear  reasonable.  It  implies  worship 
in  some  form,  and  worship  without  mystery  is  impossible. 
Mystery  made  reasonable  is  no  longer  mystery.  If  the 
Almighty  were  divested  of  mystery  He  could  no  longer  be  wor- 
shipped.    If  one  has  formulated  or  has  in  mind  a  creed  by  which 


5l6  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

he  is  to  believe  in  Him,  and  attempts  on  reasonable  grounds  to 
explain  to  himself  why  he  so  believes,  he  will  discover  that  on 
such  grounds  he  cannot  believe.  He  cannot  formulate  or  have 
in  mind  an  intelligible  belief  that  will  bear  his  own  scrunity. 
He  may  for  a  time  think  he  believes  thus  and  so  of  his  God. 
That  he  may  so  think  for  a  time,  implies  that  under  suitable 
circumstances  he  may  so  think  for  all  his  time.  But  if  he 
attempts  to  arrange  his  supposed  belief  substantively  in  his 
mind,  so  he  can  intelligently  recur  to  and  consider  it,  and  dis- 
cuss intelligibly  to  himself  and  others  the  grounds  and  conse- 
quences of  the  belief,  he  will  find  himself  in  an  inextricable 
tangle  of  inconsistency  and  absurdity.  His  next  resort  will  be 
subterfuge  and  sophistry,  he  will  dissimulate  with  himself 
Should  he  candidly  pursue  the  investigation  he  will  find  that  the 
mystery  which  apologetics  proposes  to  make  reasonable  is 
an  absolute  mystery.  He  will  also  find  that  if  it  were  not 
an  absolute  mystery,  and  if  it  were  made  to  appear  reasonable, 
there  would  be  an  end  of  religion.  He  will  also  find  that  the 
very  minds  by  and  to  which  religion's  mystery  is  to  be  made 
to  appear  reasonable,  are  themselves  absolute  mysteries.  He 
will  deem  it  mysterious  that  religious  minds  should  attempt  or 
desire  to  clear  away  the  very  mystery  without  which  there 
could  be  no  religion. 

The  different  systems  of  religion  are  so  many  competitors 
for  the  favor  of  mankind,  who,  according  to  the  tenets  of  each 
system  is  dependent  upon  divine  favor  for  his  salvation.  As 
each  system  professes  to  afford  the  only  access  to  divine  favor 
by  which  man  may  be  saved,  it  is  extremely  illogical  for  any 
of  them  to  become  embroiled  with  another  in  a  strife  for  human 
favor.  Yet  much  of  the  bitterest  and  bloodiest  warfare  the 
world  has  witnessed  has  been  between  different  organizations 
attempting  to  establish  their  respective  faiths  in  order  to  save 
the  world.  That  there  are  differences  in  the  systems  conclus- 
ively demonstrates  that  all  cannot  be  valid.  That  any  have 
originated  and  changed  in  time  just  as  conclusively  establishes 
that  they  were  invalid  either  before  or  after  such  change,  and 
that  they  must  pass  away  in  time.  Whether  the  change  was 
effected  in  order  that  the  fliith  might  keep  pace   with  intellect- 


Pious    FRAUDS   IN    LITERATURE.  SI7 

ual  progress,  or  dovetail  with  a  prevalent  caprice,  or  for  any  otiner 
purpose,  it  is  equally  conclusive  that  the  system  has  no  stabil- 
ity;  that  it  is  a  temporary  and  temporizing  makeshift  of  empiric 
imposture,  an  expedient  resorted  to  in  preference  to  some  other 
expedient  because  it  was  supposed  to  be  better  suited  to  pre- 
vailing conditions. 

If  sixteenth  century  Calvinism  was  not  an  unmitigated  curse, 
then  every  one  who  rejects  it  to-day  deserves  the  fiite  of  Serve- 
tus,  for  the  alleged  moral  law  inheres — -like  the  law  of  gravity 
— in  the  nature  of  things;  it  is  continuous,  constant,  and  eter- 
nal. If  Calvinism  was  ever  true,  it  is  still  true.  If  it  required 
and  justified  the  burning  ofServetus,  then  every  one  who  dares 
to  disbelieve  its  barbarous  absurdities  deserves  the  same  fote. 
The  heat  of  hell  were  inadequate  to  the  deserved  roasting  of 
the  perverse  heretics.  Religion  then  ought  not  to  yield  to 
civilization  or  humanity  so  far  even  as  to  substitute  hanging  for 
burning.  If  the  souls  of  disbelievers  are  to  fry  forever  in 
sulphurous  flames,  they  may  congratulate  themselves  that  their 
bodies  may  be  consumed  in  flames  not  so  offensive  to  the 
olfactories. 

So  far  as  human  reasoning  is  concerned.  Christianity  can 
have  no  more  validity  than  any  other  system.  Through  many 
of  the  systems  there  run  identical  ideas,  only  differently  cloth- 
ed, and  the  difference  in  their  garb  is  the  main  difference  in 
the  several  religions.  Christianity  comes  from  a  system  that 
had  its  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob.  He  is  one  yet 
three,  trinality  in  unity,  to  the  entire  subversion  of  mathemat- 
ics. He  has  existed,  as  exemplified  in  such  of  His  works  as 
appear  to  us,  from  time  unthinkable;  but  our  traditions  have  it 
for  about  six  thousand  years.  They  also  say  He  has  existed 
from  all  eternity,  that  there  never  was  a  time  when  He  was 
not.  But  the  phrase  all  eternity  is  ft  contradiction.  It  implies 
limitations  before  one  and  after  the  other  of  which,  eternity 
could  not  be.  It  is  said  that  in  the  beginning  He  created  the 
heavens  and  the  earth.  If  some  one  can  conceive  of  a  begin- 
ning of  either  time  or  eternity  such  assertion  may  have  some 
meaning  for  him ;  but  no  one  has  yet  shown  such  capacity. 
Such  declaration  then  can  have  no  intelligible  meaning  for  any 


5t8  ethics  of  literature. 

human  mind.  Our  traditions  place  this  alleged  beginning  at 
about  six  thousand  years  ago.  This  is  a  long  time,  but  it  is 
no  nearer  a  supposable  beginning  of  either  time  or  eternity 
than  yesterday.  And  yet,  if  we  say  that  all  that  begins  in 
time  must  end  in  time;  or,  if  we  say  that  all  that  ends  in  time 
must  have  begun  in  time,  we  must,  to  be  logical,  admit  that 
time  itself  may  have  begun  and  may  end.  There  is  no  logical 
necessity  for  a  thing  to  end  in  time  from  the  mere  fact  of  its  having 
begun  in  time;  nor  for  a  thing  having  begun  in  time  from  the 
mere  fact  that  it  ends  in  time,  unless  it  is  the  finiteness  of  time 
itself,  and  this  cannot  be  even  imagined. 

For  a  while  the  chosen  people  of  our  God  were  divided  in- 
to twelve  tribes.  But  ages  before  they  were  known  as  the 
chosen,  or  so  divided,  Astrology  had  divided  the  celestial 
regions  into  twelve  houses,  each  having  one  of  the  heavenly 
bodies  for  its  Lordlet;  and  a  little  later  the  temples  of  Athorat 
Denderah  were  embellished  with  symbolic  representations  of 
the  twelve  constellations.  Near  nineteen  hundred  years  ago 
the  second  person  of  the  Trinity  of  our  traditions  descended  to 
earth,  became  tlesh,  was  born  of  a  virgin,  had  twelve  apostles, 
and  died  to  expiate  our  sins;  which,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned, 
were  not  and  never  would  have  been  committed. 

Another  race  of  people,  much  more  respectable  numerically 
than  ours,  also  has  its  God,  its  Supreme  Spirit,  who  is  also 
triune  in  His  essence  and  being,  and  who  also  in  the  beginning 
created  the  heavens  and  earth.  From  our  standpoint  we  may 
offset  the  numerical  disparity  in  good  looks  and  intelligence; 
but  they  would  probably  admit  that  we  only  offset  such 
disparity  in  vanity.  And  they  have  some  reason  to  believe 
that  we  consider  ourselves  smarter  than  all  other  people.  We 
certainly  do  not  live  nearer  the  precepts  of  our  religion  than 
they  to  the  precepts  of  theirs.  'in  order  to  create  this  world, 
the  Supreme  Spirit  produced  from  the  right  side  of  His  body, 
Himself  as  Brahman;  then  in  order  to  preserve  the  world  He 
produced  from  the  left  side  of  His  body  Vishnu;  then  in  order 
to  destroy  the  world  He  produced  from  the  middle  of  His  body 
the  eternal  Siva."     The  second  person  of  this  Trimurti,  Vishnu, 


PIOUS   FRAUDS   IN    LITERATURE.  519 

was  the  preserver  of  the  world.  The  second  person  ot  the 
Trinity  of  our  traditions  we  call  the  Savior. 

But  the  laws  of  thought  are  set  at  defiance.  How  any- 
thing eternal  could  be  produced,  and  how  any  thing  produced 
could  be  eternal,  surpass  human  conception.  In  its  efforts  to 
make  religion  appear  reasonable  apologetics  should  not  over- 
look this.  Even  the  Herod  of  our  traditions  is  preceded  by  a 
parallel  in  the  Kansa  of  theirs.  Krishna,  who  had  twelve  apos- 
tles, was  the  eighth  incarnation  of  Vishnu,  the  second  person 
of  the  Trimurti  of  their  traditions,  and  as  above  stated  the  Pre- 
server. Kansa  was  king  (Tetrarch)  of  Mathura.  For  the  des- 
perate chance  of  getting  Krishna  he  out-herods  our  Herod  in 
killing  the  children  of  two  years  and  under  throughout  a  larger 
and  more  populous  district.  Like  our  Herod  he  was  foiled,  but 
it  was  by  means  of  a  pious  falsehood  about  a  miscarriage  in- 
stead of  a  flight  into  Egypt. 

Many  centuries  after  Krishna  the  incarnation  of  the  second 
person  of  the  Trinity  of  our  traditions  was  again  paralleled,  six 
centuries  before  it  occurred,  in  the  ninth  incarnation  of  Vishnu; 
and  while  Buddha's  putative  father  was  a  king  instead  of  a 
carpenter,  yet  his  mother  was  impregnated  with  him  by  the 
Supreme  Spirit  while  she  was  yet  a  virgin.  He  had  twelve 
apostles,  and  "promised  salvation  to  all;  He  commanded  His 
disciples  to  preach  His  doctrine  in  all  places  and  to  all  men." 
He  gave  them  the  divine  commission  six  centuries  before  the 
second  person  of  the  Trinity  of  our  traditions  said  to  His  apos- 
tles, "Go  ye  into  all  nations  and  preach  the  Gospel  to  every 
creature." 

If  the  ten  commandments  of  our  traditions  were  not  sug- 
gested by  Vishnu  in  some  one  of  His  prior  incarnations,  they 
are  very  closely  paralleled  in  the  ten  moral  precepts  of  Buddha. 
In  number  they  exactly  correspond,  and  in  effect  they  are  so 
similar  that  the  life  of  one  who  strictly  observes  one  set,  could 
not  be  distinguished  from  the  life  of  one  who  strictly  observes 
the  other  set  of  precepts.  The  first  five  of  those  of  Buddha  are 
intended  to  be  of  universal  application.  They  forbid  murder, 
theft,  falsehood,  adultery,  and  drunkenness.  The  other  five 
are  more  ritualistic  and  relate  to  individual  regimen  at  vaiious 


520  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

stages  of  spiritual  progress.  They  require  abstinence  from 
food  out  of  season,  amusements,  luxuriance,  personal  orna- 
mentation, and  greed. 

The  first  of  our  ten  commandments  has  no  parallel  in  these 
Buddhistic  precepts,  whose  promulgator,  so  far  from  exhibit- 
ing an  envy  or  jealousy  of  any  other  God,  does  not  seem  to 
have  suspected  the  existence  of  such  a  rival  for  the  adulation 
of  man ;  and  herein  consists  the  only  real  difference  between 
these  two  sets  of  precepts.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  our 
Lord  could  be  a  jealous  God  if  there  is  none  other  for  Him  to 
be  jealous  of  If  He  is  the  only  God  the  first  commandment  is 
a  very  illogical  superfluity,  if  not  absurdity.  If  the  chosen 
would  not  believe  his  declaration  that  He  was  the  only  God, 
they  would  scarcely  obey  His  command  to  them  to  have  no 
other.  If  they  %vouId  believe  such  declaration  there  could  be 
no  occasion  for  the  restraint.  If  there  are  other  Gods,  and  the 
first  commandment  implies  that  there  are,  then  the  first  com- 
mandment is  an  exhibition  of  envious  rivalry  for  the  f^wor  of 
the  subject  commanded.  It  is  in  keeping  with  the  persistent 
protest  of  the  Bible  and  the  Koran:  "God  is  the  Lord,  and  be- 
sides Him  there  is  none  other." 

It  is  remarkable  that  a  book  purporting  to  be  the  word  of 
God  should  abound  in  asseverations  of  its  own  authenticity.  It 
is  more  remarkable  that  such  a  book  should  cite  the  authority 
of  another  for  any  of  its  own  declarations.  Yet  in  Numbers, 
21-14,  the  Lord,  through  His  inspired  vice-gerent,  authen- 
ticates one  of  His  own  utterances  thus: — "Wherefore  it  is 
written  in  the  book  of  the  wars  of  the  Lord,"  etc.  If  we  knew 
who  wrote  the  book  of  the  wars  of  the  Lord,  we  might  form 
some  conception  of  its  value  as  authority  for  the  inspired  utter- 
ances of  Moses.  If  he  wrote  the  Pentateuch,  the  citation 
implies  that  some  one  had  preceded  him  with  a  history  of  the 
exploits  which  it  records.  In  such  case  the  Pentateuch  may 
have  drawn  as  heavily  from  the  book  of  the  wars  of  the  Lord, 
as  from  what  the  Lord  spake  unto  Moses.  If  he  was  inspired 
by  the  Lord  he  still  seems  to  have  deemed  it  advisable  to  cite 
authority  for  the  inspired  utterance.  Without  disputing  or  dis- 
paraging the  authenticity  ot  Holy  Writ,  it  is  fair  to  say  that  it  is 


PIOUS    FRAUDS    IN    LITERATURE.  52  1 

frequently  discredited  in  the  tllmy  subterfuges  resorted  to 
in  order  to  make  its  declarations  appear  reasonable,  and  to 
enforce  the  thousands  of  unintelligible  creeds  claimed  to  be 
based  upon  tliem.  (  The  Bible  contains  numerous  references 
to  other  books,  but  they  are  generally  for  matter  omitted  from 
the  Bible,  and  not  as  authority,  for  its  own  declarations.) 

Christianity  has  been  known  for  less  than  two  thousand 
years,  and  it  never  was  the  creed  of  one-third  the  human  race. 
The  Rector  says  that  "Buddhism  has  been  the  creed  for  more 
than  two  thousand  years  of  half  the  human  race."  Hence,  if 
he  is  correct  in  the  declaration  that  "the  world  is  not  so  con- 
stituted that  ourage  and  strength  and  endurance  and  organ- 
ization and  success  long  sustained  are  to  be  obtained  in  the 
service  of  falsehood,"  he  is  "hoist  by  his  own  petard."  it 
differs  from  Christianity,  and  it  can  only  differ  by  conflicting 
with  it.  If  one  is  true  the  other  must  be  false.  If  as  he  says, 
"in  those  great  movements  which  determine  the  moral  condi- 
tion of  many  nations  through  many  centuries,  the  stronger  side 
has  uniformly  been  the  better  side,"  then  the  stripling  of  Calvary 
is  a  mere  empiric  in  comparison  with  the  gigantic  old  patriarch 
of  Meru. 

It  is  idle  to  attempt  to  arrange  the  facts  of  history  in  a  pro- 
cession and  march  them  to  the  music  of  the  morning  stars, 
and  to  the  establishment  of  a  universal  system  governed  by  an 
,  alleged  moral  law,  when  the  influences  of  such  system  have 
not  reached  one  third  of  the  human  race  in  two  thousand  years 
of  almost  constant  diffusion.  If  "Zoroaster  among  the  hardy 
tribes  ot  the  Persian  mountains,  taught  a  creed  which,  like  that 
of  the  Israelites  was  essentially  moral  and  extremely  simple," 
if,  like  Moses,  "he  saw  behind  the  physical  forces  into  the 
deeper  laws  of  right  and  wrong,"  it  would  be  interesting  to 
knov/  from  whence  he  was  inspired.  If  the  Persians  were 
properly  called  "the  'Puritans  of  the  old  world,"'  and  hated 
idolatry  "for  the  simple  reason  that  they  hated  lies,"  it  would 
seem  that  Jewry  and  Christianity  have  not  had  a  very  secuie 
monopoly  of  morality. 

If  Persian  simplicity  and  morality  were  fatal  to  Babylonish 
and  Egyptian    dominion.    luxury,    and    idolatry;  and  if,    "as 


522  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

events  glide  on  Persia  runs  the  usual  course,  virtue  and  truth 
produced  strength,  strength  dominion,  dominion  riches,  riches 
luxury,  and  luxury  weakness  and  collapse;"  and  if  all  this  is 
the  execution,  by  itself,  of  moral  law  through  the  instrument- 
ality of  men ;  and  if  the  moral  law  inheres — like  the  law  of 
gravity — in  the  nature  of  things,  the  end,  and  hence  the  futility, 
of  Christianity  is  posited.  It  affects  morality,  simplicity,  virtue, 
and  truth.  While  its  possession  of  these  may  be  fatal  to  other 
systems,  it  will  also  be  fatal  to  Christianity.  They  will  pro- 
duce strength,  strength  dominion,  dominion  riches,  riches  lux- 
ury, luxury  weakness  and  collapse,  and  Christianity  will  itself 
run  the  usual  course.  Having  begun  in  time,  it  will  end  in 
time;  when  the  alleged  moral  law  shall  have  again  executed  it- 
self through  the  instrumentality  of  men.  Otherwise  Christian- 
ity must  be  divorced  from  the  alleged  moral  law,  it  must  cut 
the  acquaintance  of  Science,  and  content  itself  to  appear  (as  it 
is)  unreasonable.  The  logic  of  its  modern  apologists  makes  it 
an  imposture,  an  expedient,  a  system  of  charlatanry  that  must, 
like  all  other  temporal  contrivances,  run  the  usual  course  and 
become  a  mere  memory  in  the  mind  of  the  future  man. 

The  lecture  in  question  was  intended  to  vindicate  Calvin- 
ism, the  blood-curdling  nightmare  of  a  brutal  superstition. 
The  creed  is  as  hideous  in  its  conception,  as  the  cruelty  of  its 
promulgator  was  horrible  in  its  execution.  On  reading  the 
lecture  one  is  impressed  with  the  boundless  range  the  Rector 
takes  among  the  facts  whose  records  are  the  world's  history. 
He  was  perhaps  as  well  versed  therein  as  it  is  possible  to  be- 
come in  the  ordinary  term  of  life.  But  his  easy,  graceful,  and 
copious  allusion  go  further  toward  showing  his  acquaintance 
with  history,  than  toward  a  vindication  of  a  creed  whose 
promulgator  burned  a  fellow  creature  to  death  in  the  service  of 
the  Lord  whose  Angels  sung  to  the  shepherds — "On  earth 
peace,  good  will  toward  men." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM. 

No  Definite  Stages  in  Evolution — No  Eras  in  Evolution — Force  Persistent,  and 
Evolution  Continuous — Apparent  Antinomy  in  Doctrine  of  Evolution — 
Science  Never  had  a  Clear  Message  as  to  Future  Evolution  of  Societ)  — 
Experience  the  only  index  to  the  Future — No  New  Forces,  But  Only 
Change  in  Mode  of  Their  Expression — Regularity  of  Stereotyped  Cries  of 
Alarm — Sentimental  Sympathy  for  Malcontents — The  advent  of  Demos — 
Property  and  Contract  Vital  to  Society — Permanent  Type  and  Ultimate 
Regime,  Absurd — Equilibration  Unsupposable — Matter  and  Motion  Essen- 
tial to  Each  Other — Mind  a  Condition  or  Affection  of  Matter — Civilization  a 
Mere  Expression  of  Intellectuality — Hiatus  Between  Workers  and  Idlers^ — - 
Function  of  Religion  in  Evolution  of  Society 

In  an  alleged  philosophy  of  Social  Evolution  we  are  told 
that  we  seem  to  have  reached  a  time  in  which  there  prevails  an 
instinctive  feeling  that  a  definite  stage  in  the  evolution  of 
Western  civilization  is  drawing  to  a  close ;  that  in  the  depart- 
ments of  knowledge  which  deal  with  social  atfairs,  change, 
transition,  and  uncertainty  are  apparent;  and  that  Science's 
great  triumph  of  the  nineteenth  century  is  in  the  tracing  of  the 
evolution  of  life  up  to  human  society — where  it  halts  dumb — • 
and  as  to  its  further  evolution  Science  has  no  clear  message. 

History,  however,  informs  us  of  no  time  that  has  presented 
an  essentially  different  aspect.  Society,  however  crudely 
organized,  never  saw  a  time  it  did  not  appear  to  be  reaching 
the  close  of  as  definite  a  stage  in  its  evolution.  Yet  there 
never  was  a  definite  stage  in  any  evolution  whatever.  If  this 
seems  more  dogmatic  than  philosophic  the  reader  can  easily 
get  rid  of  his  scruples  by  trying  to  arrange  in  his  mind  a  con- 
ception of  such  dellnite  stage.  Evolution  is  gradual,  and 
while  the  movement  is  rhythmic,  it  is  constant.  The  Science 
which  has  traced  the  evolution  of  life  up  to  human  society 
began — where.^  The  glutinous  jelly  which  adhered  to  the 
rocks  ot  primeval  ocean  came  from  somewhere,  and  if  Biology 
began  with  it  to  trace  the  evolution  of  life  up  to  human  society 
it  cannot  even  imagine  it  has  begun  at  the  beginning  of  such 
evolution.       If  Biology  begins  with  the  alleged  one  prototype, 


S24  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

or  with  Spencer's  and  Lucretius'  "ultimate  units  having 
extreme  mobility,"  it  still  cannot  imagine  it  has  begun  at  the 
beginning  of  such  evolution.  As  the  alleged  units  cannot  be 
conceived  to  be  indivisible  or  undecomposable,  they  must  be 
composed  of  something,  and  must  have  come  from  somewhere. 
So  Biology  cannot  then  imagine  a  beginning  of  evolution.  But 
from  its  assumed  starting  point  up  to  human  society  the 
process  is  such  that  no  definite  stage  in  it  can  be  conceived. 
Life  shades  off  from  one  phase  to  another  by  a  process  which 
we  can  no  more  appreciate  than  we  feel  the  pressure  of  space 
or  the  tread  of  time.  The  alleged  elements ;  carbon,  oxygen, 
hydrogen,  nitrogen,  etc.,  by  theii  very  mobility  imply  that 
they  are  not,  properly  speaking,  ultimate  elements;  but  are 
themselves  traceable  to  something  else,  and  the  very  process  by 
which  life  is  traceable  back  to  them,  necessitates  their  derivation. 
So  a  definite  stage  of  evolution  is  unthinkable.  When  you 
reach  the  confines  of  such  supposed  stage,  the  mind  at  once 
sees  more  of  the  process  adjoining  and  merging  into  the 
supposed  stage  despite  the  arbitrary  limit.  Before  one  can  fix 
the  boundary  to  the  supposed  stage  in  his  mind,  it  is  past, 
as  insensibly  yet  as  certainly  as  the  present  moment  is  past 
before  it  can  be  recorded. 

If  society  is  entering  a  new  era  in  the  evolution  of  its  civili- 
zation, it  never  saw  a  time  it  did  not  appear  to  be  entering  as 
new  an  era.  Yet  there  never  was  an  era  in  such  evolution, 
nor  in  any  evolution.  If  the  manners  of  to-day  differ  from 
those  of  a  thousand  years  ago,  they  differ  a  thousandth  part  as 
much  from  those  of  one  year  ago,  and  one  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  thousandth  part  as  much  from  those  of  yesterday. 
An  era  is  a  portion  of  time  to  which  bounds  may  be  set,  at 
least  in  the  imagination.  Unless  we  can  so  appreciate  the 
daily  or  yearly  change  in  civilization  which  constitutes  its 
evolution,  as  to  draw  a  line  through  some  particular  day  or 
year  of  its  progress,  and  distinguish  the  civilization  adjoining- 
such  line  upon  one  side  from  that  adjoining  it  upon  the  other 
side,  we  need  not  attempt  to  formulate  a  conception  of  a  be- 
ginning or  end  of  such  era.  Whenever  the  organization  of 
society   began,  if  it   ever   did,  it  is   still  in  progress <md  must 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  S2S 

continue  in  progress  while  it  (society)  remains.  That  it  be- 
comes daily,  yearly,  and  centennially  more  complex  and  high- 
ly wrought  does  not  make  the  present  a  new  organization ; 
but  a  mere  modification  of  the  old  and  only  one.  The  present 
civilization  is  a  product  of  past  evolution  continuously  operat- 
ing in  the  line  of  life  development.  That  of  a  hundred  years 
hence  will  be  a  product  of  the  same  process  carried  continu- 
ously forward  to  that  time,  and  we  cannot  imagine  its  cessa- 
tion. Force  is  persistent,  and  in  one  line  of  its  continuous 
operation  it  has  wrought  our  civilization.  We  can  not 
imagine  its  suspension  or  its  diversion  from  such  line  of  opera- 
tion. This  may  bring  to  some  minds  an  apparent  difficulty 
with  the  conception  of  evolution  itself,  which  difficulty,  real  or 
apparent,  should  be  disposed  of  Man  is  supposed  to  have 
been  physically  organized  exactly  as  we  now  find  him  for 
many  thousands  of  years.  Hence,  so  far  as  his  physical  organ- 
ization is  concerned,  the  process  of  evolution  would  seem  to 
be  accomplished  or  suspended.  Biology  claims  that  within 
computable  time  he  has  reached  such  physical  organization  by 
a  process  of  evolution  from  a  substance  of  far  inferior  organi- 
zation. It  traces  all  life,  vegetal  and  animal,  back  to  one  alleg- 
ed prototype,  and  points  out  the  rudimentary  and  aborted 
organs,  which  it  claims  imply  the  non-existence  of  distinctions 
of  sex.  As  mind  is  only  known  to  exist  in  organized  aggrega- 
tions of  physical  substance,  it  cannot  reasonably  be  supposed 
to  exist  elsewhere,  and  it  must  be  supposed  to  be  a  resultant 
of  such  organization  and  the  affections  of  such  substance  so 
organized.  As  superior  minds  are  found  with  the  classes  of 
physical  organization  which  appear  to  be  most  complex  and 
highly  wrought,  it  would  seem  that  the  degree  of  physical 
organization  determines  the  grade  of  mind.  Yet  we  are  so 
illogical  as  to  claim  that  mind  has  been  steadily  marching  on, 
civilization  constantly  advancing,  for  many  thousands  of  years, 
while  the  physical  organization  of  man  is  still  marked  with  the 
unequivocal  signs  of  an  unsexed  beast  of  prey.  So  if  man  has 
arrived  at  his  present  state  of  physical  organization  by  a  process 
of  evolution  from  a  comparatively  unorganized  substance,  many 
thousands  of  years  ago,    and  has  remained  stationary  at  that 


526  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

point,  it  would  seem  that  the  process  of  evolution  of  life  has 
been  accomplished  or  suspended;  or  at  least  diverted  from 
operation  in  the  line  of  physical  life.  It  would  also  seem  that 
physical  organization  has  little  or  no  effect  to  determine  or 
establish  the  grade  of  mind,  provided  that  mind  has  actually 
advanced  while  the  state  of  physical  organization  has  remained 
stationary.  It  would  also  seem  that  there  not  only  may  be  a 
definite  stage  of  such  evolution,  but  that  evolution  itself  may 
begin  and  run  its  course  and  end  in  time.  The  logical  result  is 
the  invalidity  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution.  Evolution  as  such 
cannot  be  imagined  to  have  ever  begun ;  its  end  is  equally  as 
difficult  to  conceive.  Suppose  it  to  have  begun  in  time — what 
did  it  begin  with  ?  in  what  condition  was  the  substance  with 
which  it  begun  ?  What  brought  such  substance  to  the  condi- 
tion it  was  in  when  evolution  began  ?  No  mind  can  conceive 
of  the  first  application  of  force  to  matter,  yet  if  evolution  began 
in  time  there  must  have  been  a  time  when  matter  was  not 
affected  by  force.  For  evolution  to  end  in  time  there  must 
come  a  time  when  force  will  no  longer  affect  matter  as  it  has 
affected  it  in  producing  the  phenomenon  called  evolution.  As 
neither  of  these  crises  can  be  conceived,  neither  the  beginning 
nor  the  end  of  evolution  can  be  thought.  Spencer  and  Lucretius 
endow  their  alleged  ultimate  units  with  extreme  mobility.  If 
matter  and  motion  are  a  mere  mode  of  expression  of  force, 
which  they  must  be  if  the  ultimate  (?)  units  have  extreme 
mobility,  matter  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  ever  been  apart 
from  force.  If  the  doctrine  of  evolution  has  any  validity  force 
has  always  operated  upon  matter  and  must  forever  operate  up- 
on it.  It  is  physiologically  possible  that,  notwithstanding  the 
physical  organization  of  man  appejrs  to  be  just  what  it  has 
been  for  many  thousands  of  years,  yet  the  process  of  his  physi- 
cal organization  is  still  going  on,  in  the  more  elaborate  differ- 
entiation of  his  nerve  organism,  and  the  continuous  amplification 
of  its  functions  and  possibilities.  If  there  is  any  validity  in  the 
doctrine  of  evolution  of  life  up  to  civilized  society,  some  such 
process  must  be  keeping  pace  with  and  be  participating  in  the 
development  in  respect  to  that  part  at  least  of  man's  physical 
organization,  because  he  manifests  mind  in  exact  ratio  with 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  S27 

the  development  nnd  tone  of  his  nerve  organism,  and  civilization 
rises  and  falls  with  the  various  degree  of  intellectuality.  Indeed 
it  is  a  mere  expression  of  intellectuality.  The  supposition  of 
this  physiological  possibility  is  aided  by  the  physiological  fact 
that  the  brains  of  persons  of  greater  intellect  show  proportion- 
ately greater  cortical  surface,  and  more  cortical  substance, 
necessitating  or  rather  developing  more  convolutions  in  the 
cortical  periphery,  and  exhibit  a  greater  proportion  of  vesicular 
than  tubular  neurine.  If  the  supposition  of  this  physiological 
possibility,  corroborated  by  this  physiological  fact,  is  not  suffi- 
cient to  obviate  the  above  difficulty  with  the  conception  of 
evolution,  then  there  can  be  no  validity  in  the  doctrine  of 
evolution  as  applied  to  anything  depending  for  its  being  and 
development  upon  the  intellectuality  of  man.  And  apart  from 
such  intellectuality  civilization  is  not  a  supposable  quantity  or 
quality.  Reason  thus  forces  us  logically  to  the  belief  that  the 
evolution  of  life  up  to  human  society  is  a  continuous  process 
which  never  began  and  will  never  end  in  time;  and  that  civiliza- 
tion, its  essential  concomitant,  is  a  part  or  resultant  of  such 
process,  advancing  with  it,  but  not  in  definite  stages. 

As  there  seems  to  be  abundant  evidence  of  evolution,  and, 
as  evolution  cannot  be  mentally  marked  off  into  definite  stages, 
there  is  no  occasion  for  the  philosopher's  alarm  at  the  change, 
transition,  and  uncertainty  which  he  says  are  apparent  in  the 
departments  of  knowledge  which  deal  with  social  affairs. 
There  never  was  a  moment  since  men  have  affected  a  know- 
ledge of  social  affairs,  in  which  change  as  radical,  transition  as 
imminent,  and  uncertainty  as  dubious  v/ere  not  as  apparent; 
both  in  the  social  affairs  themselves  and  in  the  so-called  know- 
ledge of  them.  While  there  is  no  uncertainty  in  knowledge, 
yet  the  soi-dissaut  knowledge  of  social  affairs  has  not  enabled 
any  one  to  forecast  their  issue  with  certainty.  We  are  not 
only  blest  with  a  "blindness  to  the  future  kindly  given,"  we 
interpret  the  past  and  esteem  the  present  variously  and  vaguely, 
according  to  personal  idiosyncrasy.  In  one  particular  however 
we  are  in  accord  with  all  our  predecessors,  and  hence,  in  that 
particular  they  must  have  been  in  accord  with  each  other. 
We  see  in  our  time,  and  they  saw  in  their  respective  times, 


S28  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

change,  transition,  and  uncertainty  relating  to  affairs  of  the 
same  kinds.  The  differences  by  means  of  which  the  change 
has  been  indeed  change  were,  are,  and  will  ever  be,  purely  in 
detail  and  never  in  essence. 

Science  is  no  more  dumb  as  to  the  further  evolution  of  life 
than  it  was  or  should  have  been  at  any  time  past.  If,  fifty 
years  ago,  one  h.ad  maintained  that  a  voice  could  be  trans- 
mittted  and  distinguished  through  a  copper  wire  over  a  dis- 
tance of  a  thousand  miles,  while  he  might  not  have  been  burned 
or  beheaded,  yet  the  same  spirit,  or  spirit  of  the  same  kind,  that 
did  burn  the  progressive  mediiieval  heretic,  would  have  greeted 
him  with  such  sneers  as  enthusiast,  lunatic,  and  crank.  That 
he  would  not  have  been  burned  or  beheaded  is  due  to  the 
same  change  or  change  of  the  same  kind  that  has  been  appar- 
ent in  every  moment  of  the  evolution  of  life  up  to  human 
society,  if  science  has  no  clear  message  as  to  the  further  evo- 
lution of  life,  it  has  never  had  such  message.  When  Costar 
(or  Gansfleisch  .^)  discovered  the  art  of  printing  with  movable 
types.  Science  brought  no  clear  message  and  no  one  suspected 
that  he  was  "disbanding  hired  armies  and  cashiering  most 
Kings  and  Senates,  and  creating  a  whole  new  democratic 
world."  When  Guericke,  Hawksbee,  Grey  and  Wehler,  Du- 
fliy,  Boze,  Winkler,  Muschenbroek,  Franklin,  Galvani,  and 
Coulomb  were  experimenting  with  and  discovering  the  proper- 
ties of  electricity  and  manipulating  its  force.  Science  brought  no 
clear  message  and  no  one  suspected  that  they  were  engender- 
ing a  "nervous  system  of  five  million  miles  of  telegraph  wire." 
When  Newcombe,  Cawley,  and  Savery  were  testing  their 
crude  appliances  for  the  utilization  of  Steam-power,  Science 
brought  no  clear  message  and  no  one  suspected  that  they  were 
drawing  the  ends  of  the  world  together  in  "an  arterial  sys- 
tem of  railway  and  steamship  lines  along  which  the  currents  of 
trade  and  population  tlow. "  On  none  of  these  occasions,  nor 
indeed  on  any  other,  has  Science  ever  had  a  clear  message  as 
to  the  further  evolution  of  life  or  civilization ;  or  of  any  further 
evolution  whatever. 

We  are  told  that  nothing  can  be  more  out  of  place  than 
comparison  between  society  of  one  hundred  years  ago  and  at 


SCIENTIFIC    SOCIALISM.  529 

the  present  time;  that  we  have  little  in  common  with  the  past; 
and  that  the  past  may  be  searched  in  vain  for  any  clue  to  the 
solution  of  the  problems  which  confront  us  in  the  future. 
While  I  am  not  prepared  to  state  just  how  much  we  have 
in  common  with  the  past,  it  will  appear  that  all  we  have  that  has 
any  significance  as  to  the  social  problems  which  confront  us  in 
the  future,  we  have  in  common  with  the  past.  We  recall  no 
moment  of  the  past  that  was  not  marked  and  measured  by 
change;  and  the  same  process  is  whirling  us  through  our 
"everlasting  now."  We  cannot  point  to  a  moment  of  the  past 
when  transition  was  not  imminent;  we  apprehensively  adjust 
ourselves  to  the  same  ever-occurring  metastasis.  We  know  of 
no  moment  of  the  past  when  uncertainty  as  to  social  issues  was 
not  apparent;  we  are  constantly  perplexed  with  the  same 
dubiety.  At  no  time  in  the  past  could  men  have  looked  back 
and  seen  a  clue  to 'the  solution  of  the  problems  confronting 
them  in  their  future,  more  reliable  than  we  have  for  the  solution 
of  the  problems  confronting  us  in  our  future.  This  isf^ital  to  all 
claim  of  validity  for  any  philosophy  which  assumes  that  we 
have  little  in  common  with  the  past,  and  that  comparison 
between  society  of  a  hundred  years  ago  and  to-day  is  out 
of  place. 

The  philosophy  seems  to  be  a  series  of  lay  sermons  on  the 
significance  of  past  and  present  fact  for  the  future.  The  less 
we  have  in  common  with  the  past,  the  less  the  significance  of 
such  fact  for  the  future,  because  the  present  is  past  and  the 
future  is  present  before  we  can  distinguish  any  of  their  facts. 
The  more  we  have  in  common  with  the  past  the  more  the 
significance  of  past  and  present  fact  for  the  future.  if  the 
future  cannot  be  predicted  by  the  past,  and  the  present  is  too 
brief  to  contain  sufficient  data  ot  sufficient  significance,  we  are 
without  data  from  which  to  prognosticate  reasonably;  and  the 
alarmist  has  declared  the  invalidity  of  his  own  prophetic  philo- 
sophy of  Social  Evolution.  But  we  have  this  very  inadequacy 
in  common  with  every  moment  of  the  past;  and  in  this,  the 
most  perplexing  feature  of  social  life,  society  of  a  hundred  years 
ago  and  at  the  present  time  may  well  be  compared,  if  human 
society   is   a   resultant   of   the   evolution   of    life,    the   tracing 


530  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

of  which  is  Science's  triumph  of  the  nineteenth  century,  then 
society  of  a  hundred  years  ago  is  as  comparable  with  that 
of  to-day  as  the  society  of  any  period  can  be  with  that  of 
any  other  period  a  hundred  years  distant  from  it;  because 
evolution  is  constant,  continuous  and  eternal,  or  there  is  no 
evolution.  Reason  requires  us  either  to  abandon  the  specula- 
tion or  to  proceed  by  the  same  methods  and  similar  deductions 
to  the  postulation  of  a  degree  of  social  organization  a  hundred 
years  hence,  proportionately  as  superior  to  the  present,  as  the 
present  is  superior  to  that  of  a  hundred  years  ago.  We  have 
as  sufficient  and  reliable  data  for  such  prognostication,  as  was 
had  in  the  past  for  the  prediction  of  our  present  degree  of  civili- 
zation. If  our  present  degree  of  social  organization  was  not 
accurately  predicted  in  the  past,  it  was  because  the  data  of  the 
past  could  not  be  reliably  interpreted  in  terms  of  our  present 
degree  of  social  organization.  We  have  the  same  inadequacy 
of  interpretable  data,  and  the  same  defect  of  prophetic  acumen 
in  common  with  the  past,  together  with  the  same  propensity 
to  forecast  the  future.  All  philosophers  from  Thales  to  Kidd 
have  preached  to  their  ibllowers,  and  not  to  their  predecessors. 
If  amongst  the  advanced  nations  the  great  wave  of  industrial 
expansion  which  follows  in  the  wake  of  applied  science  is  sub- 
merging the  old  landmarks  of  society,  it  has  always  been  doing 
exactly  the  same  thing.  The  only  difference  is  in  detail  and 
method  and  degree.  If  this  process  is  preparing  for  us  a 
world  where  experience  of  the  past  is  no  longer  a  reliable  guide, 
there  is  still  no  new  cause  for  alarm.  If  experience  has  ever 
been  a  reliable  guide,  the  philosopher  who  proposes  to  dethrone 
her  ought  to  inform  us  when  and  how  she  forfeited  her  author- 
ity. If  experience  never  was  a  reliable  guide  there  is  no  occa- 
sion for  the  declaration  that  she  is  no  longer  such.  If  it  has 
always  been  our  experience  that  the  experience  of  one  period 
was  a  reliable  guide  in  a  succeeding  period,  it  is  more  dogmatic 
than  philosophic  to  say  that  our  experience  up  to  date  is  not  to 
be  trusted  in  the  future.  It  is  from  experience  of  the  past  that 
one  must  make  the  deductions  necessary  in  forecasting  the 
future,  and  one  must  forecast  the  future  in  order  to  'form  any 
conception  as  to  Vv'hat  may  or  may  not  be  a  reliable  guide  in  it. 


SCIENTiriC   SOCIALISM.  53 1 

Such  experience  ought  to  be  as  efficient  to  guide  us  in  the 
future  as  to  enable  us  to  forecast  it,  and  we  certainly  cannot 
forecast  the  future  Vv^ithout  reference  to  the  past.  If  past  experi- 
ence assures  us  of  a  new  state  of  things,  and  that  they  must  be 
different  from  things  past  (and  nothing  else  can  so  assure  us)  it 
ought  reasonably  to  be  as  potent  to  prepare  us  tor  and  guide  us 
among  them,  as  the  experience  of  any  past  time  ever  was  to 
prepare  men  for  and  guide  them  among  the  things  of  any  follow- 
ing time.  Reason  must  resort  to  experience  for  its  data,  and 
even  then  it  raves  more  than  it  reasons. 

We  are  told  that  social  forces  new,  strange,  and  altogether 
immeasurable,  have  been  released  among  us ;  that  within  a 
hundred  years  nations  and  communities  were  as  distant  from 
each  other  in  time  as  they  were  at  the  Christian  era;  that  since 
then  the  ends  of  the  world  have  been  drawn  together,  and 
civilized  society  is  becoming  one  vast  interdependent  whole. 
The  term  social  forces  is  a  vague  one  if  it  has  any  meaning  at 
all.  There  is  no  conceivable  force  but  mechanical  force,  and  it 
is  conceivable  only  by  means  of  an  exertion  of  mechanical  force. 
The  force  of  an  argument  is  as  purely  mechanical  as  that  of  a 
pile-driver,  but  not  always  so  forcible,  if  the  ends  of  the  world 
are  being  drawn  together  (in  the  telegraph  and  transportation 
systems)  it  is  by  an  exertion  of  mechanical  force.  The  hund- 
red thousand  Egyptians  drawing  stones  for  Cheops  from  the 
Arabian  mountain  down  to  the  Nile  exerted  force  of  the  same 
kind  as  that  which  is  set  in  operation  by  the  drawing  of  a 
throttle  valve,  or  pushing  an  electric  button,  or  intently  cogitat- 
ing some  abstruse  proposition  in  metaphysics.  Its  manipula- 
tions may  proceed  by  different  channels  to  different  results;  but 
force  is  the  same  whether  expressed  in  a  sigh  or  an  explosion. 
The  effect  of  the  introduction  of  steam  transportation  and  elec- 
tric telegraphy  during  the  last  century  has  been  more  electrical 
than  the  discovery  of  the  use  of  moveable  types  was  in  the 
fifteenth  century,  because  the  art  of  printing  had  served  to 
develope  a  condition  of  the  system  that  could  more  sensibly 
appreciate  the  shock.  But  the  old  bonds  of  society  are  not  be- 
coming loosened,  and  old  forces  are  not  becoming  extinct, 
and  new  forces  are  not  being  released  among  us.     There  never 


^}2  ETHICS    OF   LITERATURE. 

was  any  bond  of  society  but  fear,  personal  interest  in  individu- 
al prosperity  and  safety ;  and  new  methods  of  the  manipula- 
tion of  force  are  not  the  extinction  of  old  forces,  and  new  forms 
of  expression  of  force  are  not  the  release  of  new  forces  among 
us. 

We  are  told  that  socialism  has  ceased  being  a  theory  and 
become  a  religion ;  that  in  the  products  of  the  times  it  has  a 
background  as  luridly  effective  as  any  which  stirred  the  imag- 
ination of  the  early  Christians  in  the  days  of  degenerate  Rome; 
that  the  immense  progress  of  the  century  and  the  splendid 
conquests  of  science  have  brought  no  corresponding  gain  to 
the  masses ;  that  the  laborer  has  ceased  to  be  a  man  as  nature 
made  him,  and  ignorant  of  all  else,  he  is  occupied  with  some 
small  detail  in  the  huge  mill  of  industry;  that  even  the  skilled 
worker  holds  desperately  to  the  small  niche  into  which  he  is 
fitted,  knowing  that  to  lose  it  is  to  become  part  of  the  helpless 
flotsam  and  jetsam  of  society,  tossed  to  and  fro  on  the  tide  of 
poverty  and  distress. 

As  convincing  as  any  evidence  could  be  that  evolution  is 
still  proceeding  in  the  usual  manner,  is  the  monotonous  regu- 
larity with  which  such  stereotyped  alarms  as  the  above  are 
sounded.  Scarcely  an  industrial  or  social  priest  or  prophet 
ever  wrote  but  he  beheld  the  world  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  inevit- 
able unless  something  should  be  done.  Ninety  years  ago  a 
Scotch  ecclesiastic  writing  on  the  then  prevalent  social  dis- 
orders declared,  "there  is  a  general  impression  upon  all  spirits 
that  something  must  be  done."  It  seems  to  be  the  purpose  of 
the  alarmist  to  show  that  there  is  recent  radical  change  for  the 
worse  in  the  condition  of  the  worker,  to  whom  he  says  "the 
century  has  been  in  many  respects  a  period  of  progressive 
degeneration."  If  we  could  realize  the  condition  of  the 
workers  who  dug  the  Egyptian  and  Babylonish  canals, 
who  connected  the  Euphrates  with  the  Tigris,  and  turned  the  Nile 
into  the  Red  Sea;  and  of  those  who  built  the  temples  and  walls 
and  pyramids  and  monuments  which  still  enforce  an  admira- 
tion for  an  almost  forgotten  civilization,  we  might  be  less 
easily  alarmed  on  account  of  the  condition  of  the  modern 
worker.      If  we  could  contemplate  the  enormity  of  the  temple 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM,  533 

said  to  have  been  at  Buto,  seventy-five  feet  square  and  of  the 
same  height,  hewed  out  of  one  stone,  covered  by  another  stone 
more  than  eighty-four  feet  square,  and  all  brought  by  hand 
from  a  quarry  in  a  remote  Arabian  mountain  to,  and  rafted 
down  the  Nile,  we  could  see  no  occasion  for  the  modern 
workers  to  envy  those  engaged  in  that  enterprise  more  than 
twenty-five  hundred  years  ago.  But  we  need  not  go  back  to 
the  dawn  of  history  for  nightmares  of  suffering  endured  by  the 
laborer  whom  nature  has  made  a  man.  Eighty  years  ago  an 
English  historian  said,  "a  laborer  at  present,  earning  twelve 
shillings  a  week,  can  only  buy  a  half  bushel  of  wheat  at  eightv 
shillings  the  quarter;  and  twelve  pounds  of  meat  at  seven-pence 
per  pound."  His  week's  work  would  bring  him  $2.88;  his 
half  bushel  of  wheat  would  cost  him  $1.13,  and  his  twelve 
pounds  of  meat  would  cost  him  $1.64,  which  amounts  to 
$2.77,  leaving  eleven  cents  a  week  for  all  other  expense  and 
from  which  to  make  his  bank  deposit  for  a  rainy  day.  An 
oracle  of  British  political  economy  has  said  that  from  1327 
to  1377  an  English  laborer  could  not  buy  a  half  peck  of  wheat 
for  a  day's  labor;  and  that  from  1377  to  1446  he  could  buy 
nearly  a  peck.  My  own  grandflither  in  the  early  part  of  this 
century  made  fence-rails  in  Guilford  County  North  Carolina  for 
one  peck  of  Indian  corn  per  day,  during  the  winter  seasons, 
when  not  employed  at  his  trade.  He  reared  a  fomily  of  nine 
children,  among  whom  were  two  eminent  physicians,  and  one 
who  has  been  a  lawyer,  a  merchant,  and  a  railroad  president. 
1  have  myself  done  the  heaviest  of  farm  labor  from  twelve  to 
fourteen  hours  per  day  at  wages  ranging  from  ten  to  fifteen 
dollars  per  month,  and  have  known  thousands  of  others  to  do 
so.  I  have  but  little  patience  with  the  sickly  sentiment  which 
sighs  and  groans  for  the  wrongs  (?)  of  malcontents  who  fail 
to  get  something  for  nothing,  and  imagine  that  they  ought  to 
own  a  block  of  stock  in  every  corporation  by  whom  they  are 
so  fortunate  as  to  be  employed — at  any  wages. 

The  alarmist  says  that  the  advent  of  Demos  is  the  natural  re- 
sult of  a  long  series  of  concessions ;  that  the  changes  have  only 
increased  the  power  without  lessening  the  misery  of  the  work- 
ing classes;  that  the  new  battle  cries  are  Robber  Knights  of 


534  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

Capital  and  Unclean  Brigand  of  the  Stock-exchange;  that  we 
no  longer  hear  of  the  Privileged  and  the  people,  but  of  Idlers 
and  workers,  the  Usurpers  and  the  Disinherited,  the  Robbers 
and  the  Robbed;  that  Demos  is  no  longer  unwashed  and  illiter- 
ate for  we  have  universal  education;  and  that  he  is  no  longer 
without  political  power  for  we  have  universal  suffrage.  Such 
declarations  are  very  suggestive.  Has  Demos  been  disinherited 
or  robbed  of  poverty  or  ignorance  or  political  inferiority  ?  If 
not  then  what  v/as  his  inheritance  ?  If  we  have  universal 
education  he  may,  if  he  is  so  disposed,  be  robbed  of  his  ignor- 
ance ;  but  if  he  has  political  power  he  ought  not  to  submit  to 
being  robbed  of  anything  dear  to  him.  If  his  inheritance  is 
poverty  he  need  not  fear  the  usurpations  of  the  brigand  aristo- 
cracy. If  the  alleged  changes  have  brought  him  universal 
suffrage  and  education  they  have  done  all  that  could  be  reason- 
ably required.  If  this  is  the  result  of  a  long  series  of  conces- 
sions, the  brigand  aristocracy  has  not  been  very  ruthless  in  its 
usurpations.  For  such  exclamations  as  those  above  stated  to 
have  any  philosophic  significance,  Demos  must  desire  a  re- 
distribution of  property.  But  his  advocate  having  so  unctuously 
inveighed  against  robbery  and  usurpation,  we  are  at  a  loss  for 
a  principle  of  morality  on  which  such  a  demand  could  be  made. 
Possibly  he  might  be  appeased  for  a  time  with  a  wage-scale, 
which  in  addition  to  enabling  him  to  dissipate  in  more  elegant 
fashion,  would  also  encourage  him  to  be  more  refractory  in 
future  differences  with  his  employer.  It  might  be  regarded  an 
addition  to  the  long  series  of  concessions,  the  natural  result  of 
which  is  said  to  have  been  the  advent  of  Demos. 

If  he  is  to  receive  wages  some  one  must  pay  him  the  money 
he  earns.  According  to  his  ideal  scale  some  one  should  issue 
to  him  the  profit  of  a  business  venture  which  he  demands  and 
proposes  to  ordain  is  his.  Pav  and  wages  imply  unrestrained 
contractual  emplovment  in  voluntarv  service,  and  an  agreed 
equivalent  in  work  for  the  money  paid.  If  Demos  insists  on  a 
scale  he  would  probably  insist  on  fixing  it.  To  do  this  he 
ought  to  have  business  capacity,  because  his  appetites  are  not 
the  onlv  things  to  be  considered.  Present  and  prospective 
demand  for  the  wares  he  produces  and  the  general  tone  and 


SCIENTIFIC  SOCIALISM.  535 

pulse  of  commerce  may  be  important.  Unless  a  business  ven- 
ture can  live  it  can  afford  no  wages,  scale  or  no  scale.  If 
Demos  is  so  inefficient  in  his  own  business  as  to  make  an  in- 
judicious apportionment  of  the  pittance  now  paid  him  as 
wages  in  investing  in  his  staples  (bread  and  beer),  he  exhibits 
remarkable  assurance  in  proposing  to  fix  the  portion  of  the 
proceeds  of  a  business  venture  which  a  brigand  aristocracy 
shall  issue  to  him.  In  any  of  his  Utopian  schemes  the  idea  of 
property  and  contract  has  no  place,  and  no  worse  misfortune 
could  befall  him  than  the  realization  of  his  ideals.  Were  he 
more  judicious  in  the  investment  of  his  present  wages,  were  he 
to  pay  less  for  intoxicants  and  riotous  living,  he  might  have  less 
occasion  to  be  so  insanely  eager  to  control  a  brigand  aristoc- 
racy's business;  and  he  might  be  entitled  to  more  consideration 
than  he  usually  receives  in  settling  important  questions  relating 
to  such  business. 

If  the  changes  spoken  of  have  increased  his  power  with- 
out lessening  his  misery,  Demos  may  need  a  guardian.  He 
may  have  one  in  the  brigand  aristocracy  whose  concessions 
have  brought  him  education  and  political  power,  and  whose 
conduct  of  the  trafik  which  makes  wages  a  possibility  has  en- 
abled Demos  to  support  other  traffics  for  the  absorption  of  his 
wages.  In  exact  ratio  with  the  increase  of  his  power  Demos 
ought  to  lessen  his  miseries  for  himself,  if  he  has  the  requsite 
good  sense  to  properly  exert  the  power.  If  he  has  not  even 
such  capacity  he  ought  not  to  insist  on  any  very  ultra  amend- 
ments of  his  own  designing  being  made  to  a  commercial  system 
which,  not  only  makes  his  subsistence  a  possibility,  but  within 
this  century — a  mere  point  in  the  evolution  of  life — has  raised 
him  from  a  grovelling  ignoramus  burrowing  in  the  earth,  to  an 
educated  elector  organizing  trades-unions,  enforcing  boycots, 
precipitating  strikes,  and  generally  disturbing  and  imped- 
ing the  very  enterprises  which  are  far  more  necessary  to  his 
subsistence  than  to  that  of  the  brigand  aristocracy.  Isolated 
cases  of  violence  on  the  part  of  Demos,  and  of  oppression  on 
the  part  of  the  brigand  aristocracy  argue  nothing  for  or  against 
the  claims  of  either  of  them.  A  succession  of  concessions  on 
the  part  of  the  brigand  aristocracy  has  brought  to  Demos  a 


536  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

comparative  immunity  from  former  consequences  of  his  dis- 
turbance of  the  industries  by  means  of  which  he  was  and  is 
enabled  to  sustain  Hfe.  If,  as  the  alarmist  says,  "the  laborer 
has  ceased  to  be  a  man  as  nature  made  him,  and  ignorant  of  all 
else,  he  is  occupied  with  some  small  detail  in  the  huge  mill  of 
industry;"  yet,  as  the  same  alarmist  says,  he  "is  no  longer  un- 
washed and  illiterate  for  we  haye  universal  education,  and  he 
is  no  longer  without  political  power  for  we  have  universal  suf- 
frage." The  best  regulated  civil  societies  still  require  their 
gibbets,  their  guillotines,  and  their  dungeons;  and  the  brigand 
aristocracy  is  not  barred.  For  the  dungeon  it  has  of  late  ex- 
hibited a  predilection  amounting  almost  to  infatuation — the 
fiscus  is  well  represented  in  the  prisons.  No  civilized  society 
is  organized  for  any  section  of  its  community.  They  are  all 
organized  for  their  respective  entire  communities.  The  idea  of 
property  and  contract  is  vital  to  all  supposable  human  society. 
Neither  property  nor  contract  can  be  without  the  other;  and 
property  means  nothing  where  there  is  not  unrestrained  com- 
petition in  its  acquisition,  and  security  in  its  use.  if  by  the  reg- 
ulations of  society  the  brigand  aristocracy  is  eligible  to  its  dun- 
geons, by  the  same  regulations  Demos  is  eligible  to  the  owner- 
ship and  enjoyment  of  all  the  property  he  can  acquire.  If, 
however,  by  the  aid  of  some  of  his  advocates  and  instigators  he 
should  succeed  in  inaugurating  a  system  based  upon  his  chimeras 
there  would  be  an  end  of  property.  Property  could  have  no 
value  without  contract  and  competition  for  it,  and  without 
value  property  is  not  a  supposable  quantity. 

The  alarmist  says  we  are  told  that  society  in  its  present 
state  does  not  possess  the  elements  of  stability;  that  those  who 
are  determined  something  shall  be  done  have  able  leaders;  that 
the  worker  is  learning  that  what  he  has  lost  as  an  individual 
he  has  gained  as  a  class;  that  the  growing  enslavement  and 
degradation  of  the  workers,  the  development  among  them  of 
class  feeling  accompanied  by  combinations  and  organizations 
against  the  common  enemy,  extending  throughout  community 
and  across  national  boundaries,  are  among  the  phenomena  we 
have  been  led  to  expect.  That  we  must  also  look  for  the 
larger  capitalists  to  extinguish  the  smaller  until  with  the  accum- 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  537 

ulation  of  wealth  in  the  hands  of  a  few  collossal  capitalists, 
society  will  feel  the  anarchy  of  production  intolerable,  and  the 
end  of  a  natural  process  of  transformation  must  come  with  the 
seizing  of  political  control  by  the  proletariat,  and  the  turning  of 
the  means  of  production  into  state  property;  when  the  individu- 
al struggle  for  existence  will  disappear.  He  says  we  are  told 
all  this,  and  a  great  deal  more  of  its  kind,  by  professional  agi- 
tators (reformers  ?)  and  traducers  of  the  political  systems  by 
whose  grace  they  have  been  permitted  to  outlive  their  useful- 
ness. Of  course  he  does  not  characterize  them  thus,  but 
rather  as  the  able  leaders  of  those  who  are  determined  some- 
thing shall  be  done.  His  philosophy  seems  to  be  intended  as  a 
learned  monition  to  humanity  that  something  is  about  to  be 
done,  the  character  of  which  he  seems  to  think  is  indicated  in 
the  above  stated  stultiloquy. 

Such  absurdity  from  the  pens  of  time-serving  demagogues 
is  not  surprising  when  it  is  remembered  that  so  grave  a 
philosopher  as  Herbert  Spencer  has  himself  inferred  and  inquired 
on  some  of  the  same  points  with  scarcely  less  absurdity.  He 
has  said,  "Leaving,  however,  the  question — what  are  likely  to 
be  the  proximate  political  changes  in  the  most  advanced 
nations  ?  and  inferring  from  the  changes  which  civilization  has 
thus  far  wrought  out,  that  at  some  time,  more  or  less  distant, 
the  industrial  type  will  become  permanently  established,  let  us 
ask — what  is  to  be  the  ultimate  political  regime?"  This  is  a 
strange  query  to  come  from  an  evolutionist  who  insists  on  the 
persistence  of  force,  the  indestructibility  of  matter,  and  the  con- 
tinuity and  universal  rhythm  of  motion.  The  unintelligible 
dogma  of  equilibration  is  no  escape  from  the  logically  necessary 
consequences  of  the  postulation  of  persistence  and  indestructi- 
bility and  continuity  and  universal  rhythm  as  factors  in  evolu- 
tion. 

Equilibration  is  no  more  supposable  than  annihilation. 
Even  if  no  more  is  meant  by  the  term  than  equipoise,  or  final 
direct  and  uniform  motion,  it  would  wrest  the  earth  from  its 
orbit  and  send  it  through  space  in  a  straight  line ;  it  would 
send  the  winds  all  in  one  direction  and  at  a  uniform  velocity; 
it  would  bring  all  things  to  exact  likeness  in  every  particular 


538  ETHICS   OF    LITERATURE. 

and  thus  make  of  all  things  but  one  thing;  and  variety  would 
become  an  obsolete  term  expressing  an  effete  idea.  The  forms 
and  places  of  the  curves  in  magnetic  lines  would  cease  to 
change,  and  the  foci  of  magnetic  intensity  would  be  oblit- 
erated in  the  entire  uniformity  of  such  intensity  throughout  the 
whole  magnetic  system.  There  would  be  no  more  variations 
of  the  sun  in  the  ecliptic,  nor  horary  variations  corresponding 
to  change  of  temperature  from  the  diurnal  rotation  of  the  earth. 
for  the  sun  would  no  longer  revolve  in  the  ecliptic,  but  would 
be  off  on  an  excursion  through  space  in  straight  line,  and  the 
earth  would  no  longer  rotate,  because  the  force  that  tended  to 
turn  it  in  one  direction  would  be  exactly  equivalent  to  the 
force  which  tended  to  turn  it  in  the  opposite  direction.  These 
would  be  necessary  results  of  equilibration  if  it  were  mere  equi- 
poise or  final  direct  and  uniform  motion,  and  motion  itself  were 
not  extinct.  But  uniform  and  direct  motion  cannot  be.  No 
missile  ever  went  straight  to  the  mark.  While  matter  exists 
motion  cannot  cease.  Entire  uniformity  of  motion  would  be 
the  extinction  of  motion.  The  equilibration  of  all  forces  would 
be  the  extinction  of  force.  So  far  as  opposing  forces  are  equal 
they  are  neutralized,  and  force  consists  only  in  the  excess  of 
one  of  them.  If  the  energy  of  the  universe  is  in  truth  disap- 
pearing or  being  dissipated,  if  the  heat  of  the  sun  is  diminish- 
ing daily  by  so  much  as  is  imparted  to  other  bodies  in  space 
each  day,  its  substance  still  remains  in  existence  in  some  place 
and  in  some  form;  and  it  cannot  be  imagined  as  non-existent 
or  at  rest.  Then  the  disappearance  or  dissipation  of  its  energy 
cannot  be  the  extinction  of  such  energy.  If  the  material  bodies 
of  the  universe  have  integrated  from  substance  in  less  substant- 
ial form,  and  are  constantly  disintegrating  into  such  rarefied 
substance,  this  implies  that  such  rarefied  substance  will  again 
be  integrated  into  material  bodies.  Evolution,  based  on  the 
persistence  of  force,  the  indestructibility  of  matter,  the  continu- 
ity and  universal  rhythm  of  motion,  necessarily  implies  etern- 
ally recurring  revolution,  and  not  equilibration. 

If  matter  cannot  be  at  rest  and  motion  be  uniform,  then 
mind — which  is  a  mere  condition  or  matter — cannot  be  at  rest 
and  its  action  cannot  be  uniform.      It  is  entirely  too  much  to 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  539 

infer  that  the  industrial  type  will  at  sometime  become  perman- 
ently established.  It  is  absurd  to  ask  what  will  be  the 
uhimate  political  regime.  Such  things  can  never  be  while 
there  remains  difference  of  opinion  among  men.  And  such 
difference  of  opinion  will  ever  be  while  there  remains  even 
histological  difference  among  them  in  physical  organization,  or 
difference  even  in  minutiae  in  the  detail  of  their  enviroment. 
The  general  political  pulse  of  any  society — if  such  thing  were 
supposable — could  not  remain  at  one  point  for  a  moment.  if 
the  variation  is  imperceptible,  it  is  there  going  on  as  certainly 
as  the  moment  itself  is  there  going  on,  for  time  without  change 
is  unthinkable.  Time  can  be  neither  computed  nor  conceived 
except  as  extending  from  one  event  to  another,  and  as  includ- 
ing events,  and  events  are  themselves  change.  But  waiving 
this — other  and  more  serious  ditrlculties  appear.  In  order  that 
the  industrial  type  might  become  permanently  established  all 
other  types  must  be  extinguished,  or  merged  into  it,  which 
would  itself  be  their  extinction.  Where  there  are  no  distinc- 
tions type  has  no  meaning,  and  there  must  be  plurality  of  types 
and  they  must  differ  or  there  can  be  no  distinction.  No  type 
can  be  permanently  established  while  others  remain  in  exist- 
ence, because  they  cannot  be  in  space  and  time  without  bear- 
ing some  kind  of  relation  to  each  other.  Relation  is  necessarily 
some  kind  of  influence  or  effect,  and  these  are  change.  The 
ideas  of  the.  permanent  establishment  of  the  industrial  type, 
and  the  ultimate  political  regime,  are  among  the  wildest 
vagaries  ever  found  in  philosophy.  No  type  can  ever  be 
permanently  established  because  none  ever  was  permanently 
established.  There  can  be  no  ultimate  political  regime  because 
there  never  was  an  ultimate  political  regime.  Whatever  there 
is  of  type  or  regime  must  be  in  time,  and  time  can  only  be 
expressed  in  change. 

But  to  return  from  Spencer  to  Kidd — that  society  in  its  pres- 
ent state  does  not  possess  the  elements  of  stability,  ought  not 
to  be  alarming  to  a  philosopher.  No  society  ever  possessed 
such  elements,  and  they  cannot  be  imparted  to  or  infused  in 
any  society  by  the  able  leaders  of  those  who  are  determined 
something   shall   be  done.      Such   leaders    may  inculcate  and 


540  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

spread  and  intensity  an  unrest  and  incendiarism  which  has 
always  in  some  measure  prevailed,  and  they  may  succeed  as 
too  often  happens  in  turning  the  something  which  they  are  de- 
termined shall  be  done,  to  the  detriment  of  their  followers. 
That  they  are  determined  something  shall  be  done  signifies  lit- 
tle or  nothing  to  society,  because,  even  if  they  were  not  so 
determined,  time  goes  right  along  with  its  changes  and  some- 
thing certainly  will  be  done.  The  basis  of  society  lies  too  deep 
in  the  evolution  of  life  for  society  to  be  seriously  affected  by 
either  the  action  or  inaction  of  the  able  leaders  of  those  who 
are  determined  something  shall  be  done.  The  alleged  growing 
enslavement  and  degradation  of  the  workers,  (the  result  of  the 
long  series  of  concessions,  including  universal  suffrage  and 
education)  and  the  development  of  a  class  feeling  among  them, 
accompanied  by  combinations  and  organizations  against  the 
common  enemy,  have  neither  deepened  nor  widened  the  chasm 
that  there  was  between  them  and  the  brigand  aristocracy  at 
the  time  of  the  repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws  in  1846.  "Every  evil 
augury  as  to  the  effect  of  that  measure  has  been  falsified."  It 
was  one  of  the  long  series  of  concessions  made  by  the  common 
enemy,  a  measure  in  the  growing  enslavement  and  degradation 
of  the  workers  who  have  been  enfranchised  and  afforded 
education,  as  a  part  of  their  enslavement  and  degradation.  So 
long  as  the  idea  of  property  prevails  the  individual  struggle  for 
existence  cannot  disappear,  and  the  means  of  production  can- 
not be  turned  into  state  property.  Whatever  the  anarchy  of 
production  mav  be,  the  means  of  production  can  never  belong 
to  the  state  and  remain  property.  Yet  it  always  was  so  far  a 
state  property  that  the  state  would  seize  and  sell  it  for  failure  to 
pay  a  tax  for  protection  in  the  use  and  enjoyment  of  it.  But  to 
make  the  means  of  production  a  state  property  would  be  the 
annihilation  of  property,  and  the  removal  of  all  incentive  to 
individual  exertion.  The  idea  is  too  silly  for  serious  consider- 
ation. Still,  something  will  be  done,  because  something  is 
already  done,  and  is,  and  has  always  been  doing;  but  not  be- 
cause an  incendiary  proletariat  and  their  able  leaders  are  deter- 
mined finally  that  something  shall  be  done.  Without  the 
individual  struggle  for  existence  the  individual  could  not  exist, 


SCIENTIFIC    SOCIALISM.  541 

even  if  the  means  of  production  were  made  a  state  property. 
The  state  must  then  struggle  for  its  existence,  and  its  struggle 
is  necessarily  the  aggregate  struggles  of  the  individuals  com- 
prising the  state.  Were  society  transformed  into  a  vast  soup- 
house,  there  would  still  be  strife  between  the  boilers  of  broth 
and  the  dispensers  of  meal-tickets.  There  would  be  the  same 
or  similar  degradation  and  enslavement  of  the  workers,  and 
there  would  develope  among  them  the  same  or  similar  class 
feeling  accompanied  by  combinations  and  organizations  against 
the  same  or  a  similar  common  enemy.  The  brigand  aristo- 
cracy would  then  be  Lord  High  Stewards  of  the  State's  cuisine 
ordering  liver  and  onions  for  the  pottage  of  a  nation.  Society 
might  then  realize  that  something  had  been  done. 

Of  the  relation  of  religion  to  the  evolution  of  civilization  the 
alarmist  says,  that  no  one  who  approaches  the  subject  Vv'ith  an 
unbiased  mind  in  the  spirit  of  modern  evolutionary  science  can, 
for  a  moment,  doubt  that  the  beliefs  represented  must  have 
some  immense  utiltitarian  function  to  pertbrm  in  the  evolution 
which  is  proceeding.  I  think  religion  is  not  likely  to  be  over- 
estimated in  any  philosophic  consideration  of  the  evolution 
of  civilization,  or  of  human  life.  No  human  life  was  ever 
entirely  devoid  of  religion,  and  there  never  was  a  civilization  in 
which  it  did  not  appear  in  some  form.  While  religion,  if 
its  beliefs  were  uniform  and  hence  belief  instead  of  beliefs, 
might  be  supposed  to  have  a  utilitarian  function  to  perform  in  the 
evolution  now  proceeding,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how 
religious  beiiels  (conflicting  of  course  to  be  beliefs  instead  of 
belief)  could  have  such  function  to  perform  and  perform  it.  If 
one  religious  belief  has  such  function  to  perform  a  diiTerent  and 
hence  conflicting  belief  could  not  perform  such  function.  it  is 
scarcely  less  diftkult  to  conceive  that  religion  if  all  religious 
belief  were  uniform  could  have  and  perform  such  function. 
Its  function  in  such  evolution  cannot  he  stated  in  philosophic 
terms;  and  as  its  beliefs  vary  with  the  varying  types  and 
phases  of  civilization  it  would  seem  that  religion  and  its  beliefs 
were  more  a  product,  not  of  civilization  itself,  but,  of  the  evolu- 
tion of  civilization,  than  a  foctor  in  the  process  of  such 
evolution.     If  the  evolution  of  life  is  coeval  with  the  application 


542  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

of  force  to  matter,  and  if  religion  does  not  appear  until  the 
process  has  produced  man  physically  organized,  nor  until 
society  itself  is  considerably  evolved,  it  would  seem  to  be 
a  mere  additional  result  of,  and  not  a  factor  in,  the  evolution  of 
civilization — a  product  of  the  operations  of  the  same  forces 
which  have  wrought  out  (so  far)  the  civilization.  In  saying 
that  religion  is  not  likely  to  be  overestimated  in  considering  the 
evolution  of  life  and  civilization  1  have  not  intimated  that  it 
operates  in  such  process  as  a  cause.  It  is  purely  a  consequence; 
and  its  importance  in  such  considerations  is  in  the  fact  that  it  is 
a  universal  consequence,  though  its  form  or  type  varies  with 
the  form  or  type  or  phase  of  the  civilization  where  it  prevails. 
Christianity  of  to-day  is  as  different  from  Christianity  of  one 
hundred  years  ago,  as  our  Western  civilization  of  to-day  is 
different  from  our  Western  civilization  of  one  hundred  years 
ago.  To  be  a  cause  or  factor  in  the  evolution  now  proceeding, 
religion  must  be  a  force.  Whatever  performs  a  utilitarian 
function  must  necessarily  be  a  force,  or  some  expression  of 
force.  Force  is  persistent,  while  religion  varies  and  fluctuates 
and  rises  and  falls  with  all  the  caprices  of  temperament  and  fash- 
ion, and  it  is  even  now  trying  to  ma.ke  itself  appear  to  be  a 
science.  For  religion  to  be  really  a  factor  in  the  evolution  of  life  and 
civilization,  its  effects  ought  to  appear  in  some  form  further 
back  in  the  course  of  life  developement,  and  not  be  found  for 
the  first  only  in  later  phases  of  such  development.  He  who 
asserts  that  reli2;ious  beliefs  have  an  immense  utilitarian  func- 
tion to  perform  in  the  evolution  now  proceeding,  ought  to 
know  and  inform  his  readers  what  that  function  is.  They  can 
be  neither  gratified  nor  edified  in  being  told  that  it  has  such 
function  to  perform,  and  then  be  left  to  their  infinitely  various 
imaginations  as  to  the  character  of  the  function. 

■  We  are  told  that  "the  transforming  fact  which  the  scientific 
development  of  the  nineteenth  century  has  confronted  us  with 
is  that,  as  the  interest  of  the  social  organism  and  of  the  indi- 
vidual are  and  must  remain  antagonistic,  and  the  former  must 
always  be  predominant,  there  can  never  be  found  any  sanction 
in  individual  reason  for  conduct  in  societies  where  the  condi- 
tions of  progress  prevail."     And  again  that  "the   first   great 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  S43 

social  lesson  of  these  evolutionnry  doctrines  which  have  trans- 
formed the  science  of  the  nineteenth  century  is,  that  there  can- 
not be  such  a  sanction."  And  again  that  "the  central  fact 
with  which  we  are  confronted  in  our  progressive  societies  is, 
that  the  interests  of  the  social  organism  and  those  of  the  indi- 
viduals comprising  it  at  any  time  are  actually  antagonistic; 
they  never  can  be  reconciled;  thev  are  inherently  and  essent- 
ially irreconcilable."  The  effect  of  such  philosophic  pettifog- 
ging, if  it  were  effective,  would  be  to  augment  and  intensify 
the  supposed  discord  out  of  which  the  only  possible  harmony 
in  the  social  organism  must  be  wrought.  The  interest  of  the 
social  organism  cannot  be  supposed  to  be  other  than  the  ag- 
gregate interests  of  the  individuals  composing  the  social  organ- 
ism. Apart  from  such  individuals  there  can  be  no  social 
organism.  Without  defining  either  of  such  interests  one  may 
easily  dash  off  his  empty  generalizations  concerning  their 
alleged  antagonism.  But  philosophic  platitude  is  as  vain  as 
any  other  in  the  hands  of  the  sincere  and  discerning  inquirer 
after  truth,  if  the  interests  of  all  individuals  are  really  antag- 
onistic to  the  interests  of  the  social  organism,  the  individuals 
ought  not  to  coalesce  and  constitute  the  social  organism,  and 
they  would  not  if  they  could  prevent  or  avoid  it.  And  if  all 
were  so  minded  they  could  prevent  and  avoid  it.  If  the  indi- 
vidual has  any  real  interests  which  could  not  be  best  subserved 
in  the  social  organism,  and  by  means  of  the  social  organism, 
it  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  they  are.  Society  is  as 
natural,  and  almost  as  necessary,  to  the  life  of  the  individual, 
as  the  blood  which  courses  through  his  veins.  Robinson 
Crusoe  would  not  have  exchanged  his  man  Friday  for  all  the 
wealth  of  the  world,  knowing  that  he  had  to  remain  buried 
alive  in  his  island  solitude.  Without  society  wealth  means 
nothing.  Individual  interests  antagonistic  to  the  interests  of^ 
the  social  organism  are  not  a  supposable  quantitv,  for  the  latter 
are  a  mere  aggregation  of  the  former.  If  individual  tendencies 
are  restrained  in  and  by  means  of  the  social  organism,  individ- 
ual interests  are  not  even  modified  in  or  by  the  social  organism. 
Society  based  on  such  a  contradiction  could  not  exist,  and  if 
Anarchy  were  given  the  experiment,  individual  interests  would 


544  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

speedily  procure  its  overthrow  or  suppression  and  the  erection 
of  a  social  organism.  Individual  interests  cannot  be  supposed 
apart  from  and  independent  of  all  other  individuals.  In  such 
case  he  could  not  be  supposed  to  have  any  interests  whatever. 
The  moment  we  suppose  him  in  contact  with  or  in  any  way 
related  to  or  dependent  upon  any  other  individual,  we  suppose 
social  organism.  This  organism  may  rise  through  all  the  vari- 
ous gradations  from  the  mating  of  a  pair  of  Chimpanzees,  up 
to  a  Board  of  Trade  or  Triple  Alliance.  But  social  organism 
can  never  be  an  entity  in  and  of  itself,  or  apart  from  or  inde- 
pendent of  the  individuals  comprising  it.  It  can  have  no  in- 
terests antagonistic  to  theirs,  for  //  is  they.  The  restraint  of 
individual  tendency  is  not  antagonism  of  individual  interest — it 
is  generally  the  promotion  of  individual  interest — when  it  is 
imposed  by  the  social  organism. 

To  say  that  there  can  be  found  in  individual  reason  no  sanc- 
tion for  conduct  in  societies  where  the  conditions  of  progress 
prevail,  is  very  unphilosophic  unless  the  real  interests  of  the 
individual  can  be  best  subserved  in  society  where  there  is  the 
least  progress,  for  we  cannot  suppose  the  individual  to  be  en- 
tirely 'without  society.  The  conditions  of  progress  must 
prevail  wherever  there  is  progress,  and  wherever  such  condi- 
tions do  prevail  there  is  progress.  These  conditions  ought  to 
prevail  in  all  society,  and  wherever  they  do  not  prevail  societv 
is  not  very  well  organized.  In  some  societies  progress  may 
not  be  very  progressive,  but  in  those  where  it  is  most  progres- 
sive there  are  few  if  any  individuals  who  would  exchange 
places  with  individuals  in  societies  where  there  is  less  progress 
being  made.  Something,  possibly  it  is  not  his  individual  rea- 
son, prompts  the  individual  to  cling  to  his  niche  in  the  more 
progressive  society.  And  those  who  exchange  invariably 
transport  their  exalted  ideas  of  progress  to  and  try  to  impress 
them  upon  the  societies  to  which  they  migrate  if  they  deem 
them  superior  to  those  they  find  prevailing  there.  Some 
individuals  may  be  so  depraved  as  to  feel  no  interest  in  poster- 
ity, and  some  may  have  and  intend  to  have  no  posterity;  and 
the  alarmist  does  not  scruple  to  say  that  there  is  no  sanction  in 
individual  reason  for  any  individual  interest  in  posterity.     Rea- 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  545 

son  would  scarcely  make  us  such  brutes.  If  the  individual  has 
no  reasonable  interest  in  posterity  society  cannot  have,  for 
society  is  the  individuals  and  can  have  no  interests  but  theirs. 
Here  in  our  own  land  within  the  last  thirty  years  more  than  two 
millions  of  its  best  citizens  were  divided  against  each  other  in 
a  deadly  duel,  fighting  for  a  political  idea  to  be  transmitted  to 
posterity,  each  individual  knowing  that  many  thousands  must 
fall  in  the  conflict,  the  results  of  which  to  the  survivors  must  be 
insignificant  when  compared  with  what  they  each  intended 
they  should  be  to  posterity.  These  armies  were  not  made  up 
of  howling  mobs  of  anarchists  or  ruffians  seeking  an  outlet  for 
-a  pent-up  fury  or  thirsting  for  blood;  but  mainly  of  fathers 
who  were  willing  to  give  their  lives  to  perpetuate  a  social  organ- 
ism based  on  a  specific  political  idea,  to  posterity.  They  each 
seemed  to  find  in  individual  reason  a  sanction  for  their  conduct 
in  society.  Indeed  such  sanction  is  never  questioned  by  any 
but  the  chionic  grumblers  at  prevailing  conditions,  and  sensa- 
tional alarmists  who  attempt  to  dignify  their  utterances  in  the 
tones  and  terms  of  philosophy. 

Vice  could  not  be  more  vicious  than  in  attempting  to 
philosophically  flm  the  flames  of  anarchistic  incendiarism  which 
occasionally  break  out  to  the  destruction  of  life  and  property 
and  disturbance  of  business,  and  which  invariably  result,  as 
they  should,  in  the  strengthening  and  tightening  of  the  re- 
straints of  law  upon  lawlessness.  He  is  not  the  friend  of  the 
worker  who  attempts  to  give  philosophic  sanction  to  insubordi- 
nation, to  cancel  patriotism,  and  countenance  communism  by 
arguing  that  individual  interest  in  posterity  is  unreasonable. 
If  reason  is  concerned  only  with  the  immediate  physical  wants 
of  a  beast  who  ought  to  go  upon  all  fours  instead  of  upright  we 
might  conceive  how  it  could  refuse  to  sanction  individual  inter- 
est in  posterity,  for  some  quadrupeds  actually  eat  their  own  off- 
spring. But  it  is  not  very  ennobling  to  human  character — the 
reflection  that  the  individual  cannot  reasonably  have  any  inter 
est  in  the  welfare  of  posterity.  Yet  such  is  the  logic  of  most  of 
the  clamor  of  the  malcontents.  The  natural  cannot  be  regard- 
ed unreasonable.  Solicitude  for  offspring  is  natural.  To 
attempt  to  circumscribe  such  solicitude  to  the  immediate  off- 


546  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

spring  may  be  the  ambition  of  time-serving  agitators  who  crave 
notoriety,  but  it  cannot  be  done  in  terms  of  philosophy. 

"  That  use  is  not  forbidden  usury, 

Which  happies  those  that  pay  the  willing  loan; 

That's  for  thyself  to  breed  another  thee, 

Or  ten  times  happier,  be  it  ten  for  one; 

Ten  times  thyself  were  happier  than  thou  art, 

if  ten  of  thine  ten  times  refigured  thee; 

Then,  what  could  death  do  if  thou  should'st  depart, 

Leaving  thee  living  in  posterity?" 

The  alarmist  says  that  the  process  of  social  development 
which  has  been  taking  place,  and  which  is  still  in  progress  in 
our  western  civilization  is  not  the  product  of  the  intellect,  but 
the  motive  force  is  in  the  altruistic  feeling  with  which  our 
civilization  has  become  equipped.  That  this  altruism  and  the 
deepening  and  softening  of  character  which  has  accompanied  it 
are  the  direct  and  peculiar  product  of  the  religious  system  on 
which  our  civilization  is  founded.  And  that  to  Science  the 
significance  of  the  resulting  process  of  evolution,  in  which  all 
the  people  are  being  slowly  brought  into  the  rivalry  of  existence 
on  equal  conditions,  consists  in  the  single  fact  that  this  rivalry 
has  tended  to  be  thereby  raised  to  the  highest  degree  of 
efficiency  as  a  cause  of  progress  it  has  ever  attained.  Fine  dis- 
tinctions may  imply  a  keen  perception  and  accurate  discrimina- 
tion. They  may  also  imply  a  disposition  to  equivocate  and 
take  refuge  in  ambiguity  and  obscurity.  If  the  above  proposi- 
tions were  not  made  in  apparent  phifosophic  seriousness,  as 
though  they  embodied  cardinal  principles  of  tlie  evolution  of 
civilization,  it  might  resemble  a  wrangle  over  terminology 
more  than  philosophic  discussion  to  examine  them.  But  they 
are  made  as  though  they  were  of  grave  importance,  and  upon 
the  supposed  distinction  between  intellect  and  altruism  the 
validity  of  the  argument  is  based.  If  the  distinction  is  illegiti- 
mate the  argument  is  fallacious,  and  its  fluent  and  tlorid  gener- 
alities should  not  be  allowed  to  divert  attention  from  the  primary 
consideration.  If  some  great  philosopher  should  (upon  paper) 
construct  a  magnificent  cosmology  based  upon  assumed  ulti- 
mate atoms  or  units  of  substance,    his  argument  need  not  be 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  547 

traced  through  all  the  tortuous  ramifications  it  may  make  for 
the  purpose  of  testing  its  validity.  It  would  be  sufficient  for 
its  overthrow  to  show,  if  it  could  be  done,  that  the  assumed 
ultimate  atoms  or  units  of  substance  were  impossible;  when  of 
course  everything  depending  upon  them  is  necessarily  noth- 
ingness. If  altruism  is  only  a  phase  or  form  or  expression  of 
intellectuality  then  there  is  no  occasion  for  saying  that  the  pro- 
cess of  social  development  is  not  a  product  of  intellect,  but  of 
altruism.  As  understood  by  the  school  of  philosophers  that 
introduced  the  term,  and  their  definition  ought  to  be  authorita- 
tive, altruism  is  a  regard  for  the  feelings  of  others  as  distin- 
guished from  egoism  or  what  is  commonly  called  selfishness. 
But  positive  or  applied  altruism  is  or  embraces  an  expression  of 
selfishness,  or  what  has  been  called  ego-altruism.  It  seeks  the 
welfare  of  others  because  the  subject  prefers  or  desires  the  wel- 
fiire  of  others,  and  finds  its  own  happiness,  which  is  a  form  of 
realized  interest,  in  promoting  the  welfare  of  others.  No  one 
would  of  his  own  volition  do  or  forego  anything  for.  the 
welfare  or  interest  of  others  unless  he  desired  the  welfare  or 
interest  of  others.  In  promoting  the  welfare  or  interest  of 
others  he  gratifies  this  desire  which  is  itself  pure  selfishness 
Selfishness  then  may  be  or  embrace  a  sentiment  which  is  not 
necessarily  mean  or  malignant,  but  altruism  without  selfish- 
ness (ego-altruism)  is  unthinkable.  No  choice,  desire,  or  senti- 
ment can  be  or  be  expressed  without  intellect.  Altruism  then 
seems  to  be  a  phase  or  form  or  an  expression  of  intellectuality, 
because  we  cannot  even  think  the  welfare  of  others  without  in- 
tellectual action ;  and  Vv'hen  we  desire  their  welfare  or  interest 
we  carry  the  intellectual  action  still  further. 

But  the  "process  of  social  development  which  has  been 
taking  place  and  which  is  still  in  progress  in  our  Western 
civilization  is  not  the  product  of  intellect;"  nor  has  the  motive 
force  behind  it  had  its  seat  and  origin  in  that  fund  of  altruistic 
feeling  with  which  our  civilization  has  been  ecjuipped.  Such 
altruism  as  there  is,  is  itself  one  of  the  products  of  the  same 
unknown  and  unknowable  motive  force  which  has  produced 
our  Western  civilization,  and  indeed  all  civilization.  It  is  a 
feature  of  civilization,    or  perhaps  more  accurately  one   of  its 


548  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

accompaniments,  rather  than  a  motive  force  producing  it. 
The  alarmist  himself  furnishes  the  data  for  the  verification  of 
this  proposition.  He  says  that  through  the  altruistic  feeling 
slavery  was  practically  abolished  in  the  fourteenth  century 
in  Europe,  and  about  thirty  years  ago  in  North  America.  But 
the  historical  truth  is  that  altruism  never  abolished  slaverv  in 
either  place.  In  the  northern  American  States  the  institution 
was  found  to  be  unprofitable,  and  a  time  was  fixed  at  which  it 
should  become  unlawful.  Before  the  time  arrived  however 
nearly  every  slaVe  worth  transportation  was  sold  and  sent  to 
the  southern  States  where  the  institution  was  considered  profit- 
able, and  where  there  was  hence  less  danger  of  it  becoming 
unlawful.  Then  half  a  century  later  and  purely  as  a  war 
measure  it  was  abolished  in  the  southern  States.  The  Man 
who  did  it  distinctly  declared  his  purpose  not  to  interfere,  and 
offered  to  leave  the  institution  undisturbed,  and  even  protect  it 
if  the  rebellious  States  would  resume  their  allegiance  to  Federal 
authority  within  a  given  time.  Yet  people  are  so  eager  for 
idols  that  this  Man  is  immortalized  as  a  Liberator.  He  was 
a  great  Statesman,  and  a  great  man.  but  his  altruistic  feelings 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  abolition  of  slavery.  He 
deserves  the  undying  gratitude  aud  admiration  of  humanity  for 
his  wisdom,  courage,  integrity,  moderation,  and  in  truth  almost 
all  the  elements  of  greatness ;  and  for  the  part  he  took  in  pre- 
seiving  the  best  social  organism  yet  organized.  But  if  altruism 
had  actuated  him  in  abolishing  slavery  he  would  scarcely  have 
offered  to  protect  it  if  the  rebellious  States  would  resume  their 
allegiance  within  a  few  months  from  the  date  of  the  Emancipa- 
tion Proclamation. 

The  altruistic  feeling  may  not  be  a  disagreeable  one  when 
it  does  not  contlict  with  personal  interest  to  be  altruistic.  It 
may  be  positively  agreeable  when  one  sees  or  thinks  he  sees 
how  it  may  promote  his  interests.  But  if  the  altruistic  feeling 
abolished  slavery  in  Europe  in  the  fourteenth  century  and  in 
America  in  the  nineteenth,  it  is  difficult  to  understand  its  in- 
difference to  the  alleged  miseries  of  the  laborer  whom  the 
alarmist  now  says  is  "no  longer  a  man  as  nature  made  him." 
Altruism  seems  to  be  very  capricious  in  its  compassions.     The 


SCIENTIFIC  SOCIALISM.  549 

altruistic  development  and  deepening  and  softening  of  charac- 
ter which  are  said  to  have  accompHshed  it,  are  not  the  direct 
and  peculiar  product  of  the  religious  system  on  which  our 
civilization  is  said  to  be  founded,  unless  the  office  of  such  sys- 
tem was  to  substitute  for  slavery  a  system  fraught  with  more 
misery;  or  unless  the  alarmist  is  fighting  a  phantom  of  his  own 
contriving.  If  as  he  says,  the  laborer  has  ceased  to  be  a  man 
as  nature  made  him,  and  the  Nemesis  of  poverty  sits  a  hollow- 
eyed  spectre  at  the  feast,  and  a  new  patrician  class  has  arisen 
with  all  the  power  but  none  of  the  character  or  responsi- 
bilities of  the  old  one ;  the  altruistic  feeling  which  abolished  the 
slavery  of  the  older  (Feudal)  system,  was  the  expression  of 
more  duplicity  than  ought  to  be  attributed  to  any^  direct  and 
peculiar  product  of  Christianity.  It  was  a  delusion  and  a  snare. 
If  we  attempt  to  trace  our  civilization  to  Christianity  and  de- 
duce it  therefrom  as  an  essential  product  of  such  religious  sys- 
tem, we  have  only  to  contemplate  the  thumb-screws  and  wheels 
and  dungeons  and  halters  and  headblocks  and  stakes,  which, 
during  seventeen  centuries  of  Christianity  outnumbered  its 
altars  and  fonts  and  spires  and  shrines,  to  see  that  while  it  may 
have  deepened  character,  it  had  not  softened  it  by  developing  a 
very  exalted  type  of  altruism.  Within  the  eighteenth  and 
nineteenth  centuries  civilization  has  drawn  the  fangs  of  the 
religious  system,  and  character  may  be  somewhat  softened; 
but  if  the  alarmist  is  right  in  his  cheerless  picture  of  the  condi- 
tion of  the  worker,  the  altruism  which  he  says  is  the  direct 
and  peculiar  product  of  the  religious  system  is  still  a  delusion 
and  a  snare.  If  the  altruistic  development  and  deepening  and 
softening  of  character  are  indeed  the  direct  and  peculiar  product 
of  the  religious  system,  it  seems  to  have  required  a  long  time 
for  the  religious  system  to  begin  to  produce.  With  the  family 
feud  between  Popery  and  Protestantism  Truth  is  in  no  way 
concerned.  They  both  butchered  for  Christianity  until  muzzled 
by  Civilization  in  the  true  altruistic  spirit  which  has  had  its 
supreme  expression  in  the  life  of  the  Founder  of  Christianity, 
and  which  has  been  faintly  resonant  through  the  centuries  in 
the  lives  of  some  who  have  not  made  it  their  business  to  inform 
or  persuade  men  that  they  were  wretched. 


550  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

There  is  among  phenomena  so  much  that  cannot  be 
accounted  for,  and  so  little  that  can  be  intelligibly  explained, 
that  he  who  ventures  into  the  realms  of  the  unreal  with  his 
speculations  would  seem  to  have  more  courage  than  discretion. 
However  natural  and  irresistible  may  be  the  tendency  to  seek 
the  how  and  the  why  of  all  wherefore,  it  seems  to  be  apparent 
that  no  human  mind  can  ever  compass  them.  The  ambitious 
aspirations  of  the  human  mind  continuously  goad  it  to  exertions 
as  far  above  its  capacity  as  the  final  comprehension  of  wisdom  is 
beyond  its  grasp.  The  more  difficult  and  abstruse  and  complex 
the  nature  of  the  subject,  the  more  it  tempts  to  determined  but 
necessarily  futile  speculation.  Yet  such  speculation  which  is 
but  a  polite  name  for  guess-work  is  the  ever  ready  expedient  of 
the  wise-acre;  and  it  seems  to  be  practically  inexhaustible. 
When  conducted  on  principles  of  enlightened  reason  and  in  con- 
formity with  requirements  of  an  honest  logic,  its  deductions 
may  be  entitled  to  respectful  consideration.  But  when,  as  is 
too  generally  the  case,  it  ignores  the  essential  conditions  of 
psychological  necessity  and  follows  its  own  irresponsible 
caprices  to  improvised  cause  of  effect  which  is  itself  not 
understood,  however  scholastically  it  may  proceed,  it  may 
weary  and  confuse,  or  it  may  entertain;  but  it  certainly  can- 
not enlighten. 

Fashion  is  a  very  whimsical  mistress.  It  is  one  of  her  capri- 
ces that  sociology  is  become  a  favorite  theme  of  the  vault- 
ing aspirants  to  literary  fame,  each  of  whom  has  his  peculiar 
philosophy  or  science  of  sociology.  These  peculiar  philosophies 
and  sciences  are  based  on  alleged  principles  and  constructed  of 
improvised  data  as  various  as  the  temperaments  of  their  several 
authors.  To  give  the  world  something  new  on  the  subject  of 
sociology  is  a  favorite  ambition  among  the  learned ;  and  if  orig- 
inality were  equivalent  to  wisdom  they  should  be  congratulated 
for  their  achievements.  They  are  not  without  their  absurdities ; 
one  of  the  most  glaring  bf  which  is  the  attempt  to  philosophi- 
cally attribute  the  evolution  of  our  civilization  to  the  Ch.ristian 
religion.  Another  one  is  the  attempt  to  credit  that  religion 
with  a  new  development  of  the  alleged  altruistic  feeling  as  a 
part   of  the    process  of  the  evolution  of  our  civilization,     lam 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  5=^1 

not  proposing  a  cause  of  the  evolution  of  our  civilization,  nor 
denying  the  cooperation  of  the  Christian  religion  therein.  But 
there  is  no  more  philosophy  or  reason  in  the  claim  that  such 
religion  caused  or  cooperated  in  such  evolution  than  there  is  in 
the  claim  that  the  crucifixion  of  One  was  necessary  to  appease 
the  just  wrath  of  the  Almighty  with  innumerable  millions  of 
others.  The  facts  to  be  noted  will  plainly  show  that  however 
true  the  claim  may  really  be,  it  is  utterly  unreasonable;  and 
that  all  the  parade  of  pedantry  possible  cannot  make  it  appear 
otherwise.  The  amenities  of  cultured  life  cannot  rightfully 
require  or  justify  such  stultification  as  is  essentially  perpetrated 
in  calling  the  coolest  and  most  keenly  calculating  of  all  selfish- 
ness by  such  misleading  names  as  the  altruistic  feeling  and  en- 
lightened self-interest.  Candor  forbids  the  arrogation  by  any 
religion  of  a  monopoly  of  the  qualities  which  are  said  to  have 
engendered  or  developed  the  alleged  altruism.  To  be  reverent 
— to  be  even  reasonable — we  must,  if  we  regard  Christianity 
the  true  religion,  ascribe  its  institution  to  the  infinite  love  and 
wisdom  and  power  of  the  Almighty.  If  we  propose  to  be 
reasonable  we  must  leave  the  subject — its  origin  nature  and 
essence — at  this  point.  We  can  only  ascribe  its  institution  to 
such  love  and  wisdom  and  power  in  order  to  reasonably 
regard  it  the  true  religion.  But  the  subject  of  its  origin 
nature  and  essence  cannot  be  stated  in  philosophic  terms,  nor 
discussed  in  the  language  of  reason,  nor  illustrated  in  any 
cognizable  phenomena. 

If  it  is  true  as  a  champion  of  Theism  declares,  that  no  relig- 
ious creed  that  man  has  ever  devised  can  be  made  to  harmonize 
in  all  its  features  with  modern  ktiozvledge;  and  if,  as  he  further 
declares,  all  such  creeds  were  constructed  with  reference  to 
theories  of  the  universe  which  are  now  utterly  and  hopelessly 
discredited,  it  would  seem  that  man  can  never  construct  or  de- 
vise a  reliable  or  trustworthy  creed  of  any  valid  religion.  It  is 
remarkable  that  learned  and  acute  minds  would  not  see  the 
inevitable  ruin  of  their  favorite  theories  which  such  blunders  as 
the  above  declarations  of  the  Theist  logically  entail.  A  religious 
creed  devised  or  constructed  by  man  must  be  at  most  his  mere 
belief  concerning  something  about  which  he  can  have  no  know- 


55^  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

ledge.      And  when  it  is  found  that  such  creed  cannot  be  made 
to  harmonize  in  all  its  features  with  his  hnou-'ledge,  the  invalid- 
ity of  the  creed  is  manifest.     A  religious  creed  to  have   any 
validity  cannot  be  devised  or  constructed  by  man.     It  must 
come  from  a  higher  Power.     If  it  is  constructed  or  devised  by 
man  with  reference  to  any  theory  of  the  universe  then  prevail- 
ing, it  can  be  no  more  than   his   merely   subjective   condition, 
produced  or  caused  by  the  view  he  takes  of  the  prevailing  the- 
ory of  the  universe  in  its  supposed  relation  to   the  imagined 
object   of    his  creed.     If  the  religious   creed   varies   with  the 
successively  prevailing  theories  of   the    universe,    then  -every 
change  or  modification  of  such  theory  must  cause  a  change  or 
modification  of  such  creed.      These  changes  and  modifications 
are  simply  new  theories  and  new  creeds.     If  a  religious  creed 
must  be    modified    or   changed    in    order   to   harmonize  with 
knowledge,  it  cannot  be  valid;  knowledge,  to  be  such,  must  be 
true.      If  the  term  religious  creed  means  anything  to  the  pur- 
pose in  such  discussion,  it  must  mean  a  belief  in  the  existence 
and  providence  of  an  Almighty,   and   man's  subordination  to 
and  dependence  upon   him.     To  some  it  may  seem  better  to 
say  it  must  mean  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  an  Almighty  Provi- 
dence, and  man's  dependence  upon   It.     But  aside   from  his 
religious  creed,  however  fanciful  and  even  fantastical  it  may  be, 
no  man  has  any  knowledge  whatever  of  the  Being  which  is 
supposed  to  be  the  object  of  his  creed.      That   there   is    no 
definite  knowledge  in  or  essential  to  his  creed  is  manifest  in  the 
fact  that  his  creed   is  and   will  be  just  whatever  the  external 
agencies  affecting  man  may  make  of  it.     External  agencies  are 
practically  unlimited  in  variety,  and  the  variety  of  the  effect  of 
their  influences  is  aggravated  or  augmented  by  the  various  and 
varying  tone  and  temperament  and  physical  predilection  of  men. 
The  various  results  of  the  influences  of  external  agencies  affect- 
ing the  subject  are  their  various  and  chimerically  constructed 
creeds,  with  their  chimerically  constructed  Gods  made  to  fit 
the  creeds;  and  so  constructed  as  to  be  prepared  to   adjust 
Themselves,    Proteanly,  to  such  variations  as   successive  the- 
ories of  the  universe  may  require  the  religious  creeds  to  take  on. 


SCIENTIFIC  SOCIALISM.  555 

The  various  Gods  of  the  various  religious  creeds  hav- 
ing no  known  existence  outside  the  imagination  of  the 
subject  who  constructs  or  affects  the  creed,  must  necessarily 
give  up  even  that  precarious  existence  as  successive  theories  of 
the  universe  successively  explode  the  chimerical  creeds.  But 
human  ingenuity  is  not  to  be  long  deprived  of  its  idols, 
and  while  it  will  no  longer  construct  them  with  its  hands  out 
of  stocks  and  stones,  it  will  aesthetically  construct  them  with 
its  intellectual  faculties  out  of  the  debris  remaining  over  when 
the  same  intellectual  faculty  has  constructed  a  new  theory  of  the 
universe.  And  to  avoid  the  imputation  of  old  fogy  ism,  the 
intellectual  faculty  has  taken  to  constucting  its  Gods  in  such 
manner  as  to  tit  as  nearly  as  may  be  with  the  latest  theories  of 
the  universe.  If  the  formerly  prevailing  and  now  exploded 
theories  of  the  universe  which  formed  the  bases  of  the  invalid 
and  obsolete  creeds  are  now  properly  discredited,  it  seems  like 
assuming  that  we  are  exceedingly  sapient  if  we  maintain  that 
any  prevalent  theory  of  the  universe  now  forming  the  basis  of 
any  prevalent  creed  will  not  itself  go  the  same  way.  It 
becomes  clear  that  no  valid  creed  of  any  valid  religion  can 
depend  for  its  validity  upon  any  mere  human  theory  of  the 
universe.  If  all  theories  of  the  universe  down  to  date  are  now 
properly  discredited,  then  the  one  or  ones  now  prevailing  will 
likewise  be  properly  discredited.  Mental  progress  and  intel- 
lectual attainment  consist  more  in  the  ascertainment  of  what  is 
not,  than  in  definitely  and  finally  ascertaining  what  is. 
Almost  every  achievement  of  the  mind  has  involved  a  dis- 
closure of  some  preceeding  fallacy  in  its  supposed  achieve- 
ments. The  mind  cannot  conceive  of  the  cessation  of  mental 
progress  or  intellectual  attainment  while  time  continues.  Time 
was  never  known  except  as  attended  and  measured  by  pro- 
gress. Occasional  apparent  retrogression  is  only  a  phase  of 
the  general  movement  the  net  quotient  of  which  is  progress. 
If  a  prevalent  Theism  is  devised  or  constructed  by  man  with 
reference  to  a  prevalent  theory  of  the  universe,  and  this  is  as 
much  as  its  votaries  can  reasonably  claim  for  it;  and  if  it  has 
properly  supplanted  older  creeds  devised  or  constructed  by 
man  with  reference  to  theories  of  the  universe  which  are  now 


554  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

properly  exploded  by  the  doctrine  of  a  now  prevalent  theory  of 
the  universe,  and  if  this  is  the  legitimate  work  of  the  evolution 
of  the  idea  of  God,  then  the  prevalent  Theism  is  certain  to  be 
properly  displaced  by  a  religious  creed  hereafter  to  be  devised 
by  man  with  reference  to  some  future  theory  of  the  universe. 
The  continuous  acquisition  of -the  so-called  knowledge  which 
we  dignify  with  the  name  of  intellectual  attainment  works  a 
continuous  change  in  the  theory  of  the  universe.  Such  intel- 
lectual attainment  must  cease  if  there  is  ever  to  be  a  permanent 
theory  of  the  universe.  No  religious  creed  constructed  or 
devised  by  man  with  reference  to  such  shifting  and  varying 
theory  can  have  any  stability.  Intellectual  attainment  cannot 
cease,  and  Truth  cannot  fluctuate.  So  there  can  be  no  valid 
religious  creed  devised  or  constructed  by  man  with  reference  to 
any  theory  of  the  universe.  As  the  Gods  of  such  religious 
creeds  can  exist  only  in  the  imagination  of  man  who  creates 
and  is  forced  to  abandon  such  creeds,  the  modern  as  well  as 
the  ancient  theologies  would  seem  to  consist  mainly  of  idol 
making  and  idol  breaking  and  idol  worship.  If  the  idols  of  the 
ancients  were  hewn  out  of  wood  and  stone  and  propitiated  in 
blood,  the  idols  of  the  modern  theologies  are  aesthetically 
devised  and  constructed  bv  man  from  the  debris  left  over  on 
the  construction  of  the  successive  theories  of  the  universe;  and 
they  are  aesthetically  propitiated  in  the  stultification  essential  to 
their  worship;  and  they  are  aesthetically  demolished  in  the 
construction  of  new  creeds  with  reference  to  new  theories 
of  the  Universe. 

Speaking  by  way  of  comparison  with  the  past  the  Theist 
says: — "Since  that  morning  twilight  of  history  there  has  been 
no  era  so  strongly  marked,  no  change  so  swift  or  so  far  reach- 
ing in  the  conditions  of  human  life,  as  that  which  began  with 
the  great  maritime  discoveries  of  the  fifteenth  century  and  is 
approaching  its  culmination  to-day."  From  other  passages 
too  wordy  to  be  quoted  here  it  is  apparent  that  the  Theist  is, 
or  thinks  he  is,  also  an  evolutionist.  But  evolution  admits  of 
no  such  thing  as  an  era,  and  certainly  of  no  such  thing  as  the 
culmination  of  an  eia.  For  the  sake  of  harmony  he  has 
attempted  to  express  his  supposed  cataclysms  and  leaps  in  tiie 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  53S 

more  evolutionary  term  of  strides;  but  evolution  will  come 
more  nearly  to  harmonizing  with  or  admitting  leaps  and 
cataclysms  than  eras  and  culmination.  If  we  arbitrarily  sup- 
pose an  era  in  evolution— and  it  must  be  arbitrarily  supposed 
if  supposed  at  all — we  cannot  suppose  its  culmination  in  any- 
thing supposable.  We  can  only  suppose  the  constant  rhythmic 
change  as  carrying  the  process  forward  into  further  develop- 
ment of  the  subject  matter  evolving;  its  occasional  apparent 
retrogression  being  merely  an  expression  of  the  rythm  of  the 
movement. 

If,  as  above  stated,  the  subject  of  the  origin,  nature  and 
essence  of  religion  cannot  be  stated  in  philosophic  terms,  nor 
argued  in  the  language  of  reason,  nor  illustrated  in  any  cogniz- 
able phenomena;  yet  the  alleged  relation  of  religion  to  our 
civilization  may  be  considered.  And  the  terms  of  philosophy 
and  language  of  reason  and  illustrations  of  cognizable  pheno- 
mena may  be  employed  in  ascertaining  the  appropriate  pro- 
vinces of  our  faculties,  and,  in  so  doing,  necessarily  demon- 
strating that  the  divine,  in  order  to  be  divine,  must  be  above 
and  beyond  their  range.  In  the  presence  of  manifestations  of 
the  divine  the  truly  philosophic  mind  bows  itseli  in  adoration 
(worship)  instead  of  attempting  to  make  them  appear  reason- 
able— and  thus  making  itself  appear  ridiculous.  The  most  that 
any  mind  has  ever  accomplished  in  that  direction  was  to  show 
the  invalidity  of  former  philosophies  of  the  same  subject;  and 
no  one  has  propounded  or  ever  will  propound  a  valid  philoso- 
phy of  it.  While  we  may  not  arbitrarily  set  bounds  to  the 
intellectual  reach,  we  must  recognize  certain  philosophical 
necessities.  Among  these  are  the  mind's  perennial  aspiration, 
its  inevitable  and  universal  balk,  its  acting  only  in  response  to 
excitation  and  only  as  it  is  equipped  and  fitted  to  act  by  agen- 
cies beyond  its  control,  its  subjection  to  logic  in  all  its  candid 
action,  its  inseparability  from  the  principle  of  reverence,  its  en- 
slavement to  superstitions  which  it  forever  tries  to  justify  in 
reason,  and  its  duplicity  with  itself  in  all  effort  to  attain  the 
unattainable.     Sincere  introspection  will  disclose  others. 

By  what  may   properly  be  called  psychological  necessity 
we  are  forced  to  believe  that  if  the  Almighty  is  infinite  in  His 


5^6  ETHICS   OF   LITERATURE. 

attributes  He  has  alv/ays  been  infinite  in  them;  and  we  cannot 
suppose  them  to  have  been  augmented  from  the  finite  to  the 
infinite  in  any  measurable  portion  of  time.  Whatever  we 
properly  regard  as  infinite  we  must  suppose  to  have  always 
been  infinite,  because  we  cannot  conceive  or  think  the  progress 
necessary  to  attain  to  infinity  from  finitude.  The  infinite  love, 
wisdom  and  power  of  the  Almighty  cannot  be  conceived  of  as 
having  increased  since  the  institution  of  Christianity,  from  the 
mind's  sheer  inability  to  think  the  increase  of  that  which  is 
already  infinite.  But  in  most  theologies  the  term  infinite  love, 
is  a  contradiction.  They  generally  embrace  the  idea  of  divine 
wrath.  As  wrath  and  vengeance  are  contradictory  to  love  and 
mercy  or  grace,  these  latter  must  be  limited  by  the  former, 
and  hence  neither  the  divine  love  nor  divine  wrath  can  be  in- 
finite. Yet  we  can  conceive  no  limit  to  the  love  that  would 
institute  a  true  religious  system  for  the  salvation  of  a  race  justly 
under  condemnation;  and  we  can  conceive  no  limit  to  the 
wrath  that  would  eternally  damn  a  soul  for  acts  to  which  it 
was  by  nature  inclined;  and  yet  we  must  suppose  that  if  the 
two  opposites  coexist  they  mutually  limit  each  other.  The 
unavoidable  consequence  is  that  neither  the  origin,  nature,  nor 
essence  of  any  true  religion  can  be  stated  in  philosophic  terms, 
nor  discussed  in  the  language  of  reason,  nor  illustrated  in  any 
cognizable  phenomena.  Every  possible  postulation  in  religi- 
ous philosophy  which  shall  be  traced  to  its  necessary  logical 
results,  will  lead  to  a  similar  antinomy.  St.  Paul  was  at  least 
consistent  in  abstaining  from  the  attempt  to  teach  the  hidden 
wisdom  in  the  enticing  words  of  man's  wisdom ;  and  ol^ject 
lessons  in  the  history  of  the  race  during  the  prevalence  of 
Christianity  demonstrate  the  folly  of  the  attempts  made  by 
modern  apostles. 

For  instance,  during  more  than  twelve  centuries  Christianity 
has  been  the  religious  creed  of  a  very  respectable  proportion  of 
the  human  race.  It  has  been  known  and  rejected  by  nearly 
half  the  human  race  for  longer  than  that.  It  has  been  in  vogue 
for  about  nineteen  centuries  and  there  are  a  great  many  mem- 
bers of  the  race,  for  whom,  if  it  is  the  true  religion,  it  was 
divinelv  intended,  who  cannot  be  said  to  have  known  of  it  all. 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  557 

If  it  is  the  true  religion  it  is  necessary  to  the  salvation  of  man, 
and  without  it  man  is  damned.  If  since  its  institution  a  soul 
has  been  saved  without  its  aid,  it  was  not  necessary  to  the 
salvation  of  that  soul  at  least.  Unless  we  can  conceive  of  an 
inherent  difference  in  the  nature  of  human  souls,  we  cannot 
conceive  of  the  necessity  of  Christianity  to  the  salvation  of  any 
soul  unless  we  maintain  that  since  its  institution  no  soul  has 
been  saved  without  its  aid.  We  cannot  conceive  that  those 
who  received  it  at  its  institution  were  responsible  for  the  loss 
of  the  souls  of  those  who  died  in  their  time  without  it.  Of 
course  some  of  them  were  directed  to  go  into  all  nations  and 
preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature,  but  unless  the  death  rate 
were  arrested  a  great  many  must  die  and  be  damned  before  the 
gospel  could  reach  them.  To  the  human  mind  there  are  three 
horns  to  this  dilemma.  The  alleged  divine  economy  was  at 
fault,  or  divine  wrath  exceeded  divine  love,  or  the  religion  was 
unnecessary  to  the  salvation  of  souls  and  was  not  the  true 
religion. 

To  say  that  Christianity  has  been  the  religious  creed  of  part 
of  the  race  does  not  very  definitely  state  their  creed.  It  is  so 
variously  interpreted  and  applied  as  to  seem  more  properly  a 
cluster  of  creeds  than  a  creed.  Yet  if  we  regard  it  the  true  and 
definite  creed,  we  must  suppose  its  principles  to  have  always 
been  exactly  the  same,  for  principles  cannot  be  supposed  to 
change.  Its  tenets  as  held  by  its  adherents,  and  its  ritual  as 
administered  by  its  priests,  and  its  philosophies  as  taught  by 
its  sages,  were  ever  inconstant  in  essence  and  effect.  But  if 
we  attempt  nevertheless  to  regard  it  the  true  religion  we  must 
suppose  it  to  be  based  upon  principles,  and  to  have  an  efficacy 
for  the  accomplishment  of  the  purpose  of  its  institution.  And 
we  must  suppose  its  principles  and  inherent  efficacy  to  have 
always  been  what  they  now  are  and  must  forever  be.  We 
must  suppose  this  even  while  recognizing  that  the  religion 
was  instituted  in  time.  Otherwise  we  must  suppose  that  it 
may  not  be  the  true  religion.  To  such  psychologic  straits  does 
reasoning  drive  the  philosopher  who  traces  the  postulations 
and  dogmas  of  the  creeds  to  their  necessary  logical  results. 


SS8  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

It  is  manifestly  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  a  religion 
divinely  instituted  and  intended  for  the  salvation  of  all  men 
would  be  in  vogue  for  more  than  eighteen  centuries  without 
being  extended  to  the  entire  race.  It  is  more  unreasonable  to 
suppose  that  such  a  religion  would  be  variously  interpreted 
and  applied  by  people  of  the  same  race  and  differing  with  each 
other  only  in  such  variations  as  arise  from  climatic  causes. 
Yet  if  we  brook  all  this  we  are  still  unable  to  see  in  the  religion 
itself  an  active  working  factor  in  the  evolution  of  our  civiliza- 
tion. It  is  ec]ually  as  difficult  to  see  in  it  an  efficient  cause  ofan 
a.lleged  new  development  of  the  alleged  altruistic  feeling.  That 
which  is  divinely  intended  for  the  salvation  of  the  entire  race 
ought  to  reach  all  its  beneficiaries  (or  victims)  in  less  time  than 
nineteen  centuries.  If  it  is  an  institution  of  divine  grace  and 
promulgated  by  divine  love  and  wisdom  and  power,  each 
of  which  is  infinite,  it  is  difficult  to  understand  why  its 
dissemination  has  been  so  restricted  and  so  barren  of  results. 
As  the  nervous  mechanism  and  receptivity  of  each  individual 
of  the  race  are  constructed  on  one  and  the  same  general  plan, 
and  regulated  by  the  same  psychological  laws  (so  far  as  regu- 
lated at  all)  the  import  of  the  divine  message  ought  to  be 
exactly  the  same  to  all  who  receive  it.  If  it  is  really  essential 
to  the  weal  of  the  race  either  temporal  or  spiritual  it  is  essential 
to  the  weal  ot  each  and  everv  individual  of  the  race;  and  there 
is  criminal  negligence  somewhere  in  its  being  not  yet  pro- 
claimed to  every  individual  who  has  existed  since  its  institu- 
tion. If  there  is  not  such  criminal  negligence  in  such  fact,  then 
the  religion  was  never  of  any  consequence  to  the  race,  either 
temporal  or  spiritual,  nor  to  any  individual  of  the  race.  Even 
if  climatic  causes  have  effected  such  racial  differences  among 
the  different  sections  of  humanity  as  that  a  divine  message  must 
necessarily  be  differently  interpreted  and  applied  among  them, 
the  difficulty  is  not  obviated.  It  is  only  removed  a  little  way, 
and  we  come  to  it  again  as  certainly  as  we  persist  in  the 
attempt,  logically,  to  fix  the  religion  with  responsibility  for  an 
alleged  new  development  of  the  so-called  altruistic  feeling,  or 
to  trace  our  civilization  to  it  as  an  eftkient  cause.  Indeed,  if 
religious  creeds  are   devised   and    constructed   by   man    with 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  5^9 

reference  to  theories  of  the  universe,  then  the  religion  itself  is  a 
product  of  the  same  forces  which  cause  the  evolution  of  our 
civilization;  and  instead  of  being  a  causative  fiictor  in  such 
evolution,  it  is  a  mere  feature  or  phase  of  the  civilization  so 
evolving;  its  creeds  changing  in  substance  and  in  form  to  keep 
pace  with  the  advancing  philosophic  refinement  of  such 
theories  of  the  universe. 

According  to  the  more  fashionable  sociologists  our  boasted 
civilization  has  its  finest  expression  in  and  among  peoples  of 
Anglo-Saxon  blood.  This  peculiar  strain  has  been  in  esse  in 
all  its  distinctness  and  with  all  its  susceptibility  for  more  than  a 
thousand  years.  At  least  it  was  in  vogue  in  as  much  distinct- 
ness and  with  as  much  susceptibility  as  it  ever  had  more  than 
a  thousand  years  ago.  During  all  this  time  it  has  been  exposed 
to  the  influences  of  Christianity,  the  advocates  of  which  have 
constantly  plied  the  susceptible  Anglo-Saxon  with  its  precepts 
and  persuasions  and  premonitions.  They  have  assured  him 
that  it  was  instituted  by  divine  love  and  wisdom  and  power 
for  the  salvation  of  all  men;  and  that  the  alternative  was  their 
damnation.  They  have  shown  him  the  historical  truth  that  one 
of  its  most  intellectual  and  hence  most  formidable  opponents 
was  by  its  divine  power  instantaneously  transformed  into  its 
greatest  terrestrial  champion.  This^  proselyte  was  of  Jewish  ex- 
traction, and  there  was  never  in  the  Hebrew  blood  any  peculiar 
susceptibilitv  to  the  influences  of  Christianity.  As  a  race  the 
Chosen  are  as  stiff-necked  as  ever,  and  they  have  maintained 
their  racial  integrity  for  near  forty  centuries  under  circumstances 
which  would  have  extinguished  the  last  vestige  of  racial  char- 
acteristic in  any  other  people.  As  above  stated,  if  we  regard 
Christianity  the  true  religion,  it  is  psychologically  necessary  to 
suppose  its  efficacy  to  have  always  been  infinite;  and  that  its 
transforming  power  has  never  been  either  finite  or  augmented. 
The  same  voice,  though  in  varying  tones  and  accents,  which 
arrested  the  belligerent  Tent-maker  on  his  expedition  to 
Damascus,  has  been  constantly  calling  from  heaven  to  the  sus- 
ceptible Anglo-Saxon  for  more  than  a  thousand  years.  Yet 
according  to  the  latest  and  most  rechert:he  science  of  sociology 


560  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

it  hcis  but  recently  succeeded  in  awakening  in  him,  and  produc- 
ing a  new  development  of,  the  alleged  altruistic  feeling. 

These  are  some  of  the  object  lessons  in  the  history  of  the  race 
during  the  prevalence  ot  Christianity,  which  demonstrate  the 
folly  in  the  attempts  made  by  modern  apostles  to  teach  the 
hidden  wisdom  in  the  enticing  words  of  man's  wisdom. 

it  is  not  necessarily  disparaging  to  Christianity  to  deny  its 
responsibility  for  our  civilization  as  well  as  for  the  alleged  new 
development  of  the  so-called  altruistic  feeling.  If  it  is  the  true 
religion  it  cannot  be  made  more  respectable  or  sacred  by  any 
human  estimate  that  may  be  placed  upon  it;  and  its  discreet 
advocates  will  promptly  disclaim  for  it  all  proffered  credit  for 
achievements  which  it  has  not  achieved.  A  philosopher  can- 
not— perhaps  a  flinatic  can — conceive  how  a  plain  statement  of 
historical  truth  can  be  offensive  to  a  spirit  of  rectitude.  Any 
logically  necessary  sequence  of  actual  fact  is  a  truth,  as  well  as 
the  existence  of  the  fact  itself.  Philosophy  consists  in  great 
part  of  the  necessary  deductions  from  and  sequences  of  such 
fact.  But  to  be  philosophical  such  deductions  and  sequences 
must  be  the  necessary  ones,  logically  deduced  from  and  neces- 
sarily following  such  fact.  Casual  coincidence  and  succession 
are  not  in  themselves  sufficient  for  philosophic  cause  and  effect. 
Where  the  alleged  cause  has  been  present  for  a  long  time  before 
the  supposed  effect  appears,  and  when  the  alleged  cause  has 
been  present  for  a  longer  time  and  the  supposed  effect  never 
distinctly  appears,  philosophy  wastes  no  time  in  constructing 
fanciful  effect  and  tracing  it  to  chimerical  cause.  The  applica- 
tion is  obvious.  If  our  boasted  civilization  really  has  its  finest 
expression  in  and  among  peoples  of  Anglo-Saxon  blood,  it 
must  be  because  of  a  peculiar  adaptation  of  such  blood  for  the 
development  of  such  civilization;  and  not  because  of  any 
peculiar  efficacy  of  Christianity  therefor.  Yet  Christianity  may 
be  more  conducive  to  the  development  of  such  civilization  than 
any  of  the  other  religions,  by  being  merely  less  inimical  to  it. 
But  however  the  fact  may  really  have  been,  there  is  good  phil- 
osophic reason  in  well  known  historic  fact,  for  attributing  the 
superiority  of  our  civilization  to  the  peculiar  adaptation  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  blood   rather  than  to   any   supposed   efficacy  of 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  56  I 

Christianity  therefor.  It  is  known  that  for  about  eight  centuries 
our  Anglo-Saxon  ancestors  were  little  better  than  naked  bar- 
barians, while  Christianity  with  all  its  efficacy  for  the  develop- 
ment of  civilization,  was  the  religious  creed  of  peoples  whose 
lineal  descendants  still  profess  it,  and  whom  our  modern 
sociologists  now  declare  are  far  behind  us  in  the  development 
of  civilization.  It  is  historically  true  that  Christianity  has  pre- 
vailed in  certain  countries  for  near  eighteen  centuries,  and  that 
the  peoples  of  such  countries  enjoyed  a  more  refined  civilization 
during  a  few  centuries  next  before,  than  during  at  least  seven- 
teen centuries  next  after  the  institution  and  general  prevalence 
of  Christianity  among  them.  It  is  to  be  remarked  that  if 
Christianity  has  transformed  the  "hair-mantled,  flint-hurling, 
Aboriginal  Anthropophagus"  of  Britain  into  a  polished  pro- 
fessor of  pansophy,  its  effect  upon  the  Antochthones  of  the 
Mediteranean  peninsulas  and  islands  has  not  been  so  striking. 
To  claim  that  it  is  better  adapted  to  more  northern  latitudes  is  to 
question  the  economic  wisdom  of  its  Founder,  who  planted  it 
originally  much  nearer  the  tropics  than  even  these  islands  and 
peninsulas  of  the  Mediteranean. 

If  historic  truth  has  any  philosophic  significance,  it  would 
seem  that  the  intensification  of  the  idea  of  property — in  other 
words,  selfishness — has  done  more  to  promote  and  develope 
our  civilization  than  any  religious  feeling  (idea  ?)  has  done.  If 
individual  security  in  the  ownership  and  enjoyment  of  property 
could  be  had  without  it,  mankind  would  tolerate  very  few  of 
the  restraints  of  civilization.  In  such  case  no  known  religion 
would  be  adequate  to  the  development  of  such  a  civilization  as 
now  prevails  among  the  modern  Anglo-Saxons.  We  have 
only  to  look  back  to  Nineveh,  Babylon,  Memphis,  Thebes, 
Tyre,  Carthage,  and  Palmyra,  for  the  conclusive  proof  that 
Commerce — -the  most  elegant  and  emphatic  expression  of  the 
most  intense  idea  of  property — and  not  religion,  is  the  Foster- 
Motherofall  civilization.  The  individual  selfishness  that  lies 
at  the  base  of  all  intelligible  idea  of  property,  and  not  the 
alleged  altruistic  feeling  of  the  modern  Anglo-Saxon — further 
than  it  is  itself  an  expression  of  selfishness — is  the  spur  to  that 


562  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

which  fashionable  sociologists  boast  as  the  greatest  refinement 
of  national  culture. 

Still,  it  cannot  be  denied,  and  for  the  purposes  of  philosophy 
it  may  be  admitted,  that  the  type  and  tone  of  the  civilization 
prevailing  in  some  countries  more  thoroughly  or  more  nearly 
Christian,  are,  according  to  our  ideas  of  national  culture,  su- 
perior to  the  type  and  tone  of  the  civilization  prevailing  in 
countries  less  thoroughly  or  less  nearly  Christian.  This  how- 
ever must  be  taken  with  the  equally  significant  fact  that  the 
tropical  and  southern  American  States  are  as  intensely  religious 
as  the  northern  American  States,  and  that  some  of  the  southern 
and  south  eastern  States  of  Europe  are  more  intensely  religious 
than  the  British  and  German  States ;  while  far  inferior  in  point 
of  civilization.  This  requires  the  recognition  of  another  factor 
in  the  development  of  civilization,  and  one  that  appears  to  be 
more  potent  than  any  religion  can  be  esteemed.  Climatic 
cause  would  seem  to  be  effective,  if  not  directly,  then  ulti- 
mately; in  conducing  to  the  intensification,  or,  it  may  be,  to 
the  quiescence,  of  the  idea  of  property  by  stimulating  or 
repressing  the  industrial  tendency.  But  if  we  attempt  to 
ascribe  the  stronger  industrial  tendency  of  temperate  and  north- 
ern latitudes  to  climatic  cause,  we  are  confronted  with  difficul- 
ties more  serious  than  any  yet  encountered.  We  have  to 
explain  the  co-existence  of  the  huts  and  wigwams  and  mounds 
of  the  Ohio  and  the  Missouri,  v/ith  the  Temples  and  Pyramids 
and  Highways  of  Mexico  and  Peru.  The  sinuous  belt  of 
civilization  that  encircled  the  globe  during  the  first  ten  or 
.  twelve  centuries  of  the  prevalence  of  Christianity,  ran  too  near 
the  equator  to  consist  very  consistently  with  the  modern  philo- 
sophy of  climatic  cause.  If  Christianity  were  an  efficient  cause 
for  the  glorious  effect  which  we  proudly  call  our  civilization, 
it  ought,  philosophically,  to  have  the  same  effect  in  all  lati- 
tudes. It  purports  to  be  the  true  religion  of  the  one  and  only 
God,  instituted  for  the  weal  of  all  men.  And  while  it  may  be 
historically  true,  that  the  civilization  which  we  regard  the 
most  elegant  and  refined  yet  known,  prevails  only  in  Christian 
countries,  there  is  really  no  philosophic  significance  in  the  fact. 
The  same  religion  prevails  in  many   countries   which   are   as 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  ^6} 

uncivilized  as  other  countries  in  the  same  latitudes  with  them, 
where  Mohammedanism  and  Buddhism  prevail. 

Some  of  the  fccts  then  may  seem  to  imply  that  Christianity 
has  bred  and  fostered  our  civilization,  and  in  another  con- 
nection 1  have  urged  this  as  a  historical  truth ;  and  as  a  truth 
sufficient  of  itself  to  silence  all  objection  to  the  validity  of 
Christianity.  But  I  also  urged  there  as  I  urge  here,  that  the 
validity  ^of  the  system  cannot  be  either  assailed  or  defended 
philosophically.  The  supposed  superiority  of  our  civilization 
cannot  be  pliilosophically  attributed  to  the  influences  of 
Christianity,  nor  to  it  in  co-operation  with  alleged  climatic 
causes.  As  many  of  the  facts  of  history,  and  they  are  equally 
significant,  forbid  its  being  so  accounted  for,  as  would  admit 
of  its  being  so  accounted  for.  No  really  valid  religion  can  have 
anything  in  common  with  reason  or  philosophy.  The  results 
of  the  influences  of  Christianity  are  more  in  the  nature  of  miracu- 
lous manifestations,  than  of  philosophic  facts  or  reasonable 
results.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  well  known  historical  truth 
concerning  facts,  which  are  in  themselves  utterly  unreasonable. 
Their  coincidence  with  other  facts,  and  their  sequences,  may 
sometimes  suggest  the  ideas  of  correlation  and  consequence. 
When  their  coincidence  and  sequence  are  observed,  these  are 
apt  to  start  the  tongues  and  pens  of  the  wiseacres,  each  of 
whom  has  a  peculiar  theory  of  the  manifestation,  which  he 
proceeds  to  verify  in  philosophy,  and  the  world  is  edified  with 
his  elegant  and  elaborate  folly. 

In  the  preface  to  his  booklet  on  The  Idea  of  God  as  Affected 
by  Modern  Kowledge,  the  Theist  refers  to  a  lecture  he  had  de- 
livered before  an  august  assembly  called  the  Concord  School  of 
Philosophy  and  says,  "My  address  was  designed  to  introduce 
the  discussion  of  the  question  whether  pantheism  is  the  legiti- 
mate outcome  of  modern  knowledge.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  object  might  best  be  attained  by  passing  in  review  the 
various  modifications  which  the  idea  of  God  has  undergone  in 
the  past,  and  pointing  out  the  shape  in  which  it  is  likely  to 
survive  the  rapid  growth  of  modern  knowledge,  and  especially 
the  establishment  of  the  great  doctrine  of  evolution  which  is 
fast  obliging  us  to  revise  our  opinions  upon  all  subjects  what- 


564  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

soever."  No  opinion  needs  revision  until  known  to  be  erron- 
neous,  or  at  least  until  believed  to  be  erronneous.  When 
known  or  believed  to  be  erronneous  it  ceases  to  be  an  opinion, 
and  gives  place  to  other  opinion,  or,  it  may  be  obliterated  and 
leave  the  mind  devoid  of  intelligible  opinion  upon  the  subject 
to  which  it  related.  But  allowing  the  supposed  revision  of 
opinion,  and  also  allowing  that  the  idea  of  God  is  opinion,  it 
would  still  be  very  severe  upon  Theology,  and  especially  upon 
Theism,  if  the  growth  of  modern  knowledge  and  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  doctrine  of  evolution  require  the  revision  of 
such  opinion.  Modern  knowledge  must  be  truth  in  order  to 
be  knowledge;  and  if  it  requires  the  revision  of  the  idea  of  God 
it  must  be  because  of  error  in  such  idea.  Theology  is  or  pur- 
ports to  be  the  idea  of  God.  Parallel,  or  rather  identical  with  this — 
religion  is  the  feeling  of  God.  Theism  is  the  phase  of  this  idea  or 
feeling,  in  which  God  is  regarded  a  personal  Being,  independent 
of  and  distinct  from  the  world,  indeed  the  Creator  of  the  world. 
It  is  becoming  fashionable  to  maintain  that  He  created  the  world 
through  and  by  means  of  the  process  of  evolution,  the  doctrine 
of  which  seems  to  be  so  well  established  that  even  Theism 
tries  to  conform  itself  to  it. 

The  reverent  religious  mind  delights  in  the  notion  that  its 
God  is  immortal  and  immutable.  Should  it  detect  Him  ter- 
minating or  changing  His  existence  in  order  to  conform  to 
modern  knowledge  of  the  world  He  has  created,  it  might  lose 
all  respect  for  Him.  It  could  scarcely  worship  an  Almighty 
Groveller  to  public  opinion,  however  fashionable  and  authorita- 
tive such  opinion  might  seem  to  be.  The  modifications  which 
the  idea  of  God  is  said  to  have  undergone  in  the  past,  if  they 
have  been  undergone,  were  necessarily  so  many  changes  of 
such  idea.  The  idea  after  the  change  was  different  from  the 
idea  before  the  change,  and  necessarily  another  idea.  An  idea 
is  a  subjective  condition,  or  a  phase  of  a  subjective  condition. 
The  existence  of  the  subject  having  the  idea  is  mechanically 
caused.  The  subjective  condition  itself  and  its  phases  are  also 
mechanically  caused.  The  God  of  such  subject  exists  (for  him) 
only  in  the  sensation,  feeling,  idea,  which  he  has  of  such  God ; 
namely,  in  his  subjective  condition  so  mechanically  caused,  or 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  05 

some  phase  of  such  condition.  If  the  idea  of  God  has  under- 
gone change  in  the  past,  the  Gods  of  those  whose  ideas  have 
been  so  changed  have  been  relegated  to  non-existence,  and  new 
ones  have  been  made  and  substituted  in  their  stead  by  the 
growth  of  knowledge  (of  the  world)  which  has  caused  such 
change  of  ideas.  If  further  revision  of  such  ideas  is  reciuired 
by  the  growth  of  modern  knowledge  and  the  doctrine  of 
evolution,  then  the  present  God  or  Gods  must  give  place 
to  new  ones  to  be  constructed  in  later  and  better  style 
and  conformably  to  such  modern  knowledge  and  evolution- 
ary doctrine.  If  the  existence  of  the  subject  is  mechanic- 
ally caused — and  the  evolutionary  doctrine  is  that  such  existence 
is  a  mere  form  of  the  expression  of  force — and  if  the  subjective 
condition  and  its  phases  are  also  mechanically  caused,  then 
the  idea  of  God  is  mechanically  caused.  The  same  evolution- 
ary doctrine  holds  that  all  ideas  orginate  in  sensation,  and 
that  all  sensation  is  mechanically  caused.  The  variety  of  the 
idea  of  God  also  implies  that  the  idea  is  mechanically  caused. 
Very  few  persons  have  definitely  and  intelligibly  expressed 
identical  ideas  of  God.  In  truth  no  person  ever  had  a  definite 
and  intelligible  idea  of  Him.  The  indefinite  and  unintelligible 
ideas  of  Him  which  have  undergone  change  in  the  past,  and 
which  modern  knowledge  and  the  evolutionary  doctrine  require 
to  be  revised  in  the  future,  can  never,  by  such  means  become 
definite  intelligible  and  true  ideas  of  an  immortal  and  immuta- 
ble God.  No  mind  can  suppose  either  the  beginning  or  end 
of  the  acquisition  or  growth  of  knowledge,  or  of  the  process  of 
evolution.  So  long  as  these  continue  the  idea  of  God,  if  re- 
quired to  run  in  their  grooves,  must  be  constantly  changing  in 
order  to  keep  itself  adapted  to  them,  if  the  idea  of  God  must 
be  modified  and  made  to  conform  to  knowledge  of  the  world 
as  it  grows  (changes),  if  such  idea  must  continuously  adjust 
itself  to  the  continuously  growing  (evolving)  doctrine  of  evolu- 
tion, then  the  existence  of  God  Himself  must  be  modified  and 
such  existence  must  be  continuously  adjusting  itself  to  the  con- 
tinuously growing,  evolving,  changing,  of  the  physical  world  to 
which  such  knowledge  and  evolutionary  doctrine  relate.  The 
alleged  knowledge  of  the  world  and  the  doctrine  of  evolution, 


566  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

are  simply  sums  of  impressions  made  by  the  world  (pheno- 
mena) upon  the  minds  of  those  who  have  promulgated  such 
knowledge  and  doctrine.  They  constitute  the  subjective  con- 
dition of  those  who  are,  or  imagine  they  are,  impressed  by 
physical  phenomena  in  a  manner  which  they  attempt  to  ex- 
press in  their  alleged  know'edge  and  in  their  doctrine  of  evolution 
They  can  generally  account  for  such  impressions  in  a  pro- 
visional manner,  so  as  to  imply  that  the  nerve  organism  is 
affected  thus  and  so  by  contact,  tactual,  aural,  visual,  gusta- 
tory, or  olfactory,  with  physical  phenomena.  They  may  at- 
tribute the  retention  of  such  impressions  to  a  peculiar  chemical 
quality  of  or  quantity  in  the  nerve  substance,  namely,  its 
phosphorescence.  They  may  attribute  the  coordination  of  such 
impressions  into  thoughts,  ideas,  and  alleged  knowledge,  to 
some  other  peculiar  quality  of  or  quantity  in  the  same  nerve 
substance,  namely,  the  inherited  and  acquired  tendency  of  its 
activities.  They  may  even  attribute  its  activities  to  something. 
Force  is  the  final  refuge  of  the  evolutionist.  As  force  is  insepar- 
able from  matter,  and  as  matter  cannot  be  conceived  of  as 
apart  from  force,  they  are  psychologically  two  names  for  one — 
what  ?  If  the  evolutionist  should  successfully  attribute  these 
or  this  to  somewhat  further  he  might  be  better  qualified  and 
entitled  to  insist  on  the  modification  of  the  idea  of  God  con- 
formably to  the  evolutionary  doctrine.  If  the  evolutionary 
doctrine  that  ideas  are  the  sums  of  impressions  originating  in 
sensation,  and  that  sensations  are  coordinated  according  to  in- 
herited and  acquired  aptitudes,  is  correct,  then  the  idea  of  God 
must  be  mechanically  caused.  A  sensory  organ  must  in  some 
manner  have  a  sensation  or  impression  of  Him.  This  sensation 
or  impression  must  be  registered  and  retained  in  the  sensorium 
by  virtue  of  the  phosphorescence  of  some  parts  of  the  nerve 
substance,  and  it  must  be  assimilated  or  coordinated  into 
thought  or  idea  by  the  inherited  and  acquired  aptitude  of  the 
nerve  organism  of  the  particular  subject  having  the  idea.  As 
the  mind  cannot  conceive  of  such  thing  as  direct  aural,  tactual, 
visual,  gustatory,  or  olfactory  sensation  or  impression  of  the 
Almighty,  it  cannot  conceive  how  it  is  to  have  any  sensation  or 
impression  of  Him.     The  chimerical  fancies  which  the  mind 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  ^67 

may  have  of  its  God,  engendered  in  the  nursery  and  fostered 
by  fanaticism,  can  never  rise  to  the  dignity  of  ideas.  An  idea 
of  God,  in  the  sense  in  which  we  say  idea  of  any  supposable 
physical  phenomena,  is  a  psychological  impossibility. 

The  Theist  insists  on  a  personal  God  as  the  independent 
Creator  of  the  world.  He  denies  that  Pantheism  is  the  legiti- 
mate outcome  of  modern  science,  and  disputes  its  claim  to 
verification,  in  the  doctrine  of  evolution.  He  insists  on  tacking 
his  alleged  Theism  to  the  document  containing  the  evolution- 
ary doctrine,  and  proposes  the  modification  of  the  idea  of  God 
(the  personal  and  independent  Creator  of  the  world)  to  con- 
form to  modern  knowledge  and  the  evolutionary  doctrine. 
He  reduces  the  personal  and  independent  Creator  of  the  world 
to  subserviency  to,  or  at  best  to  identity  with,  the  world  which 
He  has  created,  and  to  which  such  modern  knowledge  and 
evolutionary  doctrine  relate.  While  definite  and  intelligible 
ideas  of  God  are  psychologically  impossible,  yet  if  they  were 
within  human  capacity,  they  could  not  logically  be  subordinat- 
ed and  required  to  conform  to  knowledge  of  the  world  and  the 
evolutionary  doctrine,  unless  the  world  to  which  such  knowl- 
edge and  doctrine  relate,  is  superior  to  Him,  or  at  least  equal 
to  or  identical  with  Him.  In  such  case  He  could  not  be  sup- 
posed to  be  its  Creator,  and  the  Theist,  by  the  logic  of  his  own 
dogmas,  becomes  a  Pantheist.  According  to  his  own  philos- 
ophy Theism  is  an  absurdity.  He  has  the  idea  of  the  personal 
God  (the  independent  Creator  of  the  world)  dancing  attendance 
upon  modern  knowledge  of  the  world  and  the  doctrine  of 
evolution.  As  God  exists  objectively  for  no  one,  but  subjec- 
tively for  each  one,  he  subordinates  such  God  to  physical 
phenomena  by  requiring  the  supposed  idea  of  Him  to  conform 
to  a  supposed  knowledge  of  such  phenomena. 

Religion  is  a  various  and  varying  and  confused  and  con- 
flicting expression  of  the  so-called  idea  of  God.  It  is  as  various 
and  varying  and  confused  and  conflicting  as  the  so-called 
modern  knowledge  of  the  world  and  doctrine  of  evolution. 
The  Christian  creed  is  merely  a  form  of  the  expression  of  such 
so-called  idea  of  God ;  and  is  itself  as  various  and  varying  and 
confused   and  conflicting  as    the  so-called    knowledge  of  the 


568  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

world.  Yet  it  is  more  learnedly  than  philosophically  said  to  be 
an  active  agency  in  the  evolution  of  our  civilization.  To  be 
such  an  agency  it  must  (philosophically)  be  in  and  of  itself  a 
force,  and  not  an  effect.  The  force  of  which  philosophy  takes 
cognizance  is  constant.  Various  effects  are  merely  different 
expressions  of  force  in  different  applications.  If  religion 
in  any  form,  or  in  the  aggregate  of  all  its  forms,  is  a  force, 
it  need  not,  and  indeed  it  cannot,  be  varied  or  modified 
or  changed  by  means  of  any  so-called  knowledge  of 
the  effect  of  some  other  supposed  force.  If  the  so-called 
idea  of  God  is  in  any  way  affected  by  the  growth  of 
modern  knowledge,  it  is  a  mere  fleeting  phantom,  it  is 
merely  one  of  the  forms  in  which  force  expresses  itself;  and 
it  must  vary  as  the  same  force  differently  expresses  itself  in  the 
change  of  expression  which  constitutes  the  growth  of  modern 
knowledge.  In  no  form  in  which  such  so-called  idea  may  find 
expression,  not  even  in  Christianity,  can  it  be  philosophically 
regarded  an  active  agency  in  the  evolution  of  our  civilization. 
By  constantly  varying  to  keep  pace  with  the  growth  of  modern 
knowledge  and  to  tit  the  doctrine  of  evolution  (which  is  itself 
evolving  and  not  established)  it  continuously  becomes  what  it 
was  not,  until  it  now  resembles  the  religion  of  the  Apostles 
about  as  much  as  theirs  resembled  the  religion  of  the  Antedi- 
luvian Patriarchs.  One  can  speak  of  it  as  cause  of  the  evolution 
of  our  civilization  with  about  as  much  philosophic  propriety  as 
he  can  speak  of  the  establishment  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution, 
or  "the^oj/  toward  which  the  process  of  evolution  is  tending." 
Evolution  is  irreconcilable  with  the  establishment  of  any- 
thing, even  the  doctrine  of  evolution  itself.  According  to  the 
doctrine  of  evolution  the  evolutionary  idea  itself  has  evolved 
from  former  crude  conceptions  of  cosmos.  On  its  own  hypo- 
thesis it  must  continue  evolving  forever,  for  force  is  persistent. 
No  mind  can  think  the  goal  toward  which  the  process  tends. 
As  place  it  cannot  be  localized,  and  as  condition  it  cannot  be 
regarded  permanent.  Evolution  necessitates  matter,  and  mat- 
ter cannot  become  extinct,  and  it  is  inseparable  from  force. 
Force  can  only  be  thought  as  an  efficient  cause  of  effect  upon 
matter.     One  of  these  effects  is   the   doctrine   of  evolution   as 


SCIENTIFIC   SOCIALISM.  569 

expressed  in  the  philosophies  to  which  Theology  is  cowardly 
cringing.  Another  of  these  effects  is  civilization,  for  the  devel- 
opment of  which  Theology  vainly  claims  credit.  If  religion 
has  anything  in  common  with  reason,  and  if  the  idea  of  God  is 
really  affected  by  modern  knowledge,  another  of  these  effects 
is  the  varying  state  of  religion  as  expressed  in  the  various  con- 
fused and  conflicting  ideas  of  God.  if  there  is  a  goal  toward 
which  the  process  tends,  and  if  it  is  place,  the  process  must 
continue  until  the  goal  shall  be  reached.  Matter  must  then 
become  extinct,  for  if  it  remains  in  esse,  force,  which  is  persis- 
tent, will  impel  it  beyond  the  goal.  If  such  goal  is  condition  it 
must  be  attainable,  and  the  process  must  continue  until  the 
goal  shall  be  attained.  Matter  must  then  become  extinct,  for 
if  it  remains  in  esse,  force,  which  is  persistent,  will  affect  it  in 
some  way,  and  affection  is  change  of  condition.  So  the  mind 
which  is  not  prepared  to  extinguish  matter  need  not  concern 
itself  about  the  establishment  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  or 
the  existence  of  the  goal  toward  which  evolution  tends. 


CONCLUSION 


The  work  which  I  have  so  far  been  engaged  in  must,  like 
all  other  literary  performances,  close  without  being  completed. 
Nothing  of  a  philosophical  character  in  literature  was  ever 
entirely  finished.  As  we  cannot  legitimately  suppose  the  end 
of  progress  and  the  final  attainment  of  perfection  in  wisdom  or 
in  morals,  it  is  not  likely  that  any  such  literary  enterprise  ever 
will  so  culminate.  If  the  name  by  which  I  have  called  my 
work  implies  an  ambition  disproportionate  to  the  ability  mani- 
fest in  its  performance,  I  am  still  unable  to  find  anything  which 
I  can  regard  a  more  appropriate  name  for  it  than  the  Ethics  of 
Literature. 

In  Literature  a  great  deal  of  sheer  nonsense  has  been  dressed 
in  the  fashionable  garb  of  learning,  and  sold  under  the  protect- 
ed proprietary  trade-mark  of  this  or  that  system  of  alleged 
philosophy.  If,  in  questioning  the  propriety  of  such  unsyste- 
matic literary  system,  the  examples  or  specimens  which  1  have 
examined  have  been  selected  in  a  somewhat  desultory  manner, 
I  may  say  that  in  llieir  several  philosophies  the  data  are  not  only 
so  selected,  but  1  think  I  have  shown  that  their  several  enunci- 
ations of  doctrine  and  principles  were  even  more  irregular. 

In  a  brief  biographical  sketch  of  an  eminent  (once  an  immi- 
ent)  American,  who  has  received  his  full  shares  of  attention,  it 
is  said,  '•  His  writings,  though  marked  by  an  ethical  and  spirit- 
ual vitality  of  the  highest  order,  are  utterly  devoid  of  system, 
and  pervaded  by  a  certain  mystical  quality,  charming  to  some 
but  bewildering  to  others.  His  intellectual  gems  are  profusely 
sown  throughout  his  pages  according  to  no  visible  or  conscious 
method,  and  with  settings  that  seem  quite  accidental;  but 
they  glow  with  a  genuine  lustre  wherever  found.  To  the  arts 
and  processes  of  the  logician  he  pays  no  regard,  evidently 
thinking  that  they  tend  to  belittle,  rather  than  exalt  the  truth.'" 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Carlyle  also  prated  a  great  deal 
about  what  he  contemptuously  called  Attorney  Logic,  and  set 
all  the  rules  of  literary  decorum  at  defiance,  and  distorted   a 


CONCLUSION.  571 

o-enuine  genius  in  eccentric  buffoonery  and  the  snarls  of  a  dis- 
oTuntled  literary  hypochondriac.  If  one  will  take  the  pains  to 
set  the  gems  which  Emerson  has  so  profusely  sown  through- 
out his  pages  in  anything  like  a  natural  order  and  connection, 
or  relation  to  each  other  and  to  any  supposable  train  of  philo- 
sophic thought,  he  will  find  he  has  grouped  together  more 
brilliant  contradiction  and  incongruity  than  philosophy. 

No  truth,  and  hence  no  sound  philosophy,  was  ever  in  itself 
necessarily  illogical.  No  truth,  and  hence  no  sound  philosophy, 
was  ever  more  embellished,  or  more  intelligible,  by  reason  of  a 
disregard  for  method.  Still,  logic  and  method  are  of  them- 
selves inadequate  to  the  construction  of  a  philosophy.  There 
must  be  a  substance,  a  subject-matter,  a  body  animated  by  the 
soul  of  truth.  And  while  the  mindjnay  not  be  able  to  get 
back  to  an  elementary  truth  or  a  fundamental  principle,  it  can 
never  legtimately  supply  the  (supposed)  desideratum  by  an 
assumption.  If  the  logical  result  of  this  is  the  impossibility  of 
sound  philosophy,  it  may  be  observed  that  so  far,  the  nearest 
the  human  intellect  has  ever  approached  thereto,  is  in  philosophy 
cy  pres,  intelligible  and  reasonable  probability. 

The  subject  which  the  name  of  my  work  indicates  that  I 
proposed  to  consider,  is  too  vast  to  be  exhaustively  treated,  and 
too  diverse  and  variegated  to  be  brought  symmetrically  within 
any  well  defined  method.  If  1  have  been  illogical,  however,  1 
think  it  is  mainly  in  writing  at  all,  when  my  chief  complaint  is 
that  too  much  is  already  written. 

To  the  thinking  reader  (for  whom  I  have  written)  who  may 
have  attentively  perused  the  foregoing  pages,  no  rehearsal  or 
summary  of  what  in  my  opinion  should  be  the  principles  of  the 
ethics  ot  literature  will  be  necessary.  Particular  instances  have 
been  made  the  occasion  for  expressing  general  ideas  of  literary 
propriety;  and  in  most  cases  they  have  afforded  the  appropriate 
illustrations  by  means  of  which  I  have  sought  to  enforce  such 
ideas. 

The  names  and  characters  of  the  authors  whose  works  I 
have  examined,  together  with  the  esteem  in  which  they  seem 
to  be  almost  universally  held  in  literature,  may  imply  some- 
thing near  akin  to  audacity  in  the  attempt  I  have  made.     They 


572  ETHICS    OF    LITERATURE. 

are  all  world-famous.  They  appear  to  be  securely  enshrined 
in  the  hearts  of  all  literary  posterity.  Nothing  less  than  the 
result  predicted  in  the  preface  could  justify  such  an  undertak- 
ing. If,  however,  such  result  is  fairly  attained,  no  name  and 
no  fame,  and  no  considerations  of  any  imperious  and  caprici- 
ous literary  fashion,  should  deter  any  manly  man  from  frankly 
conceding,  that  the  prevalence  of  a  servile  and  slovenly  habit  of 
thought,  is  in  some  measure  responsible  for  the  aristocratic  airs 
assumed  by  mediocrity. 


Hy'i 


Fie 


LOANDEP?  ° 

I^^Y      < -^^«-^  ^^  *°  immediate  j 


\9rsb 


LD  21-10 


recall. 


General  Librar 
University  of  Calif, 


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